


Prices Paid

by WhatButAVillain



Series: Lies for Rent and Prices Paid [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is Not Oblivious (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Raphael, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rimming, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), mentions of adult themes, playing fast and loose with history, playing fast and loose with the bible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 75,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24399160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatButAVillain/pseuds/WhatButAVillain
Summary: Raphael or Aziraphale as She has renamed him is told to watch over, guard and guide the humans, He wasn't expecting to fall in love with his demonic counterpart.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Lies for Rent and Prices Paid [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761784
Comments: 233
Kudos: 90





	1. Prologue: In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is Aziraphale's side of the story told in Lies for Rent. So you will get the same events, for the most part, but told through Aziraphale's eyes this time. Ever wonder what he was thinking through the whole mess of Lies for Rent. Here's your answer. Because I love you all and I hate myself. Do not expect the same kind of quick chapter posting. I will try to keep to one a day but it is likely going to go slower. I think. I've been wrong with this series before.

“Raphael, I adore you.” Lucifer says and Raphael feels a smile break his face in two.

“I adore you, Lucifer.” He replies back.

*************************************************************************************************************

“She wants me to test you. I told Her no. There is no need. I know you would pass.” Lucifer says kissing the hand he held in his grasp.

“Lucifer, you can’t say no to Her. Test me. Whatever it is I’ll pass, for you.”

*************************************************************************************************************

“Raphael, you are no longer an Archangel. You are now and forever more, Aziraphale the Principality.” Her voice rings out inside his very being and he feels his power ripped from him leaving him a lesser shell of who he was.

“Why?” He whispers.

“He refused Me.”

“Lucifer,” He murmurs before passing out.

*************************************************************************************************************

“Lucifer,” Ra-Aziraphale greets happily.

“Aziraphale, How can I help you?” Lucifer asks calmly.

“I-” _They won’t remember, any of them, the Archangel Raphael._ Her voice had rung out. “I just wanted to say hello.” His mouth moves without his permission.

“Hello,” Lucifer greets and pauses a moment waiting for more before turning and walking away.

Ra-Aziraphale finds a corner of Heaven and weeps.

*************************************************************************************************************

“Why test him? Why test all of them?” Lucifer’s voice rings out as Ra-Aziraphale passes Her throne room.

“Do you defy me, Lucifer?” Her voice rings out.

“No,” Ra-Airaphale whispers. “No,” louder. “No, Lucifer,” He calls out bursting through the open door.

Lucifer turns to face him his face is twisted in confusion. “Raphael?”

“Then I cast you out.” Her voice rings out.

“What?” Lucifer asks confused looking back to Her throne.

“Lucifer,” Aziraphale cries out running trying to reach him his arms outstretched.

“Raphael,” Lucifer asks again looking back at Aziraphale.

“Out of my Grace.” Time is slowing and Aziraphale can’t make it across the room. “Out of my Love.” Her voice says and Lucifer is trying to reach out to him. The floor cracks. A chasm opening before Her throne.

“Lucifer,” Aziraphale cries as the ground gives and Lucifer Falls. His hands still outstretched just missing Lucifer’s fingers and he nearly dives after him but the ground is closing up and Aziraphale can’t get through it. “No!” He cries and he does not find a corner to weep in. But neither is he alone in his tears. Half the host of Heaven is gone and the Heavens are a cacophony of cries. “Why?” he whispers kneeling broken at the foot of Her throne.

“He defied me. He will test them now.” Her voice says and it is gentle but cold.

*************************************************************************************************************

He is stationed in The Garden. On a wall overlooking the Garden and then overlooking the Humans as they make their way out of the hole he had made in the wall after they were cast out. The Fall of Humanity. And the Heavens are silent.

There is a demon next to him. Speaking to him.

“Sorry. What was that?” Aziraphale asks politely.

“Well that went down like a lead balloon,” the demon says again.

“Oh, yes rather,” Aziraphale responds.

“Bit of an over reaction if you ask me. First offense and everything.” The demon says. “I can’t understand what’s so bad about knowing the difference between Good and Evil anyway.” the demon confides quietly.

“Well, it must be bad,” Aziraphale pauses, he doesn’t know this demon. Why is he engaging him? What does it matter?

“Crawley,” the demon offers his name.

“Crawley,” Aziraphale repeats. “Or else, you wouldn’t have tempted them into it.” Aziraphale finishes his thought.

“Oh they just said get up there and make some trouble,” the demon, Crawley, says.

“Well, obviously, you’re a demon. It’s what you do.” Aziraphale says. Propaganda for the masses. Raphael knows better. But Aziraphale doesn’t and isn’t that the point.

“Not very subtle of the Almighty though is it? Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a big ‘Don’t Touch’ sign on it. Why not put it a long way off like on a mountaintop? Or on the Moon?” The demon asks. And Aziraphale rolls his eyes Heavenward. Why would She? But it doesn’t matter. “It makes you wonder what She’s really planning.” The demon whispers.

“Best not to speculate.” Aziraphale tells him. “It’s all part of the Great Plan. It’s not for us to understand. It’s” He smiles. He had just learned this word today and he did love learning new things. “ineffable.”

“The Great Plan’s ineffable?” The demon asks.

Aziraphale smiles and says, “Exactly. It is beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words.”

That’s when the demon looks down at his waist. “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?”

Aziraphale panics. “uh…”

“You did. It flamed like anything.” The demon comments. “Lost it already have you?” he asks kindly.

“I gave it away.” Aziraphale murmurs under his breath.

“You what?” The demon asks incredulously.

“I gave it away!”Aziraphale exclaims. “There are vicious animals out there and it’ll be cold out and she’s expecting already.” he lists off his justifications. “So I said. Here. Flaming sword. Don’t bother to thank me, just take it and go. And don’t let the sun go down on you here.” He pauses a moment. “I do hope I haven’t done the wrong thing.” He mutters.

“Oh, you’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.” The demon says smiling gently.

Aziraphale knows that’s a lie. But the demon is trying and it does make him feel better. “Oh, Oh. Thank you.” he says. “It’s been bothering me.”

“I’ve been worrying too,” Crawley says. “What if I did the right thing with the whole ‘eat the apple’ business. A demon can get into a lot of trouble doing the right thing.” And he gives a soft laugh that is infectious and Aziraphale starts to smile in spite of himself. “Funny if we both got it wrong. If I did the right thing and you did the bad one.”

It takes a moment for what Crawley says to register before the smile drops from his face. “No. It wouldn’t be funny at all.” And it wouldn’t be. Aziraphale can’t afford to be doing the wrong thing. Raphael could maybe make it as a demon but Aziraphale, despite being a soldier now, is too weak to defend himself.

Crawley shrugs as if to say ‘what can you do?’ when it suddenly begins to rain. Crawley takes a nervous step closer to Aziraphale’s side and Aziraphale unconsciously raises his left wing to cover him. When he realizes what he’s done it’s too late to take it back and besides. Why should the demon have to get soaking wet. It doesn’t cost him to be kind. But he still refuses to acknowledge it and the demon seems to feel the same. They stand there like that, Aziraphale shielding the demon Crawley from the rain until well into the night when they rain finally lets up and Crawley turns back into a serpent and slithers away. Aziraphale continues to fret.

The next day he gets his orders to close up the newly made Eastern Gate of which he is the Guardian and to follow the humans to watch over them. It’s as he is putting the final stone in place that Her voice and light washes over him.

“Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate,” and they are alone and still she calls him by his second name and oh it hurts. “Where is the flaming sword I gave you, Aziraphale. To guard the Gate of Eden.”

This is it. The test that She had wanted to put him through and he has failed. “Sword? Right. Big sharp cut-y thing.” he looks around as if looking for it on the ground. “Must have… put it down here someplace.” Her light fades. “Lose my own head next.” he chuckles. He is going to Fall. He failed. But there is no pit opening. No burning. No screaming. He did not fail Her. And he gives a sigh of relief. But now, onto the trail of Adam and Eve. Sans sword.


	2. First temptations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale runs into the demon Crawley and falls victim to some temptations.

Aziraphale is bored. Or at least, he was bored until Adam came back from the fields with Abel’s body. He knew he had felt a demon nearby but he didn’t recognize it. It felt familiar enough but he didn’t think he knew who it was. He blamed himself in part for young Abel’s death. And when Cain said the blond man had told him to do it… Well, Aziraphale had been bored.

And so it begins. Years of thwarting demons begins and suddenly Aziraphale is no longer bored. He wishes he could get those days back. But the humans multiply and are so wicked seemingly on their own. Aziraphale tries his best and spreads God’s message and some listen and call out to the Almighty again in Love and Obedience but it is not enough.

God is angry. God is so angry that Aziraphale gets word from Gabriel that She is flooding the world, or at least most of the world, and drowning the humans. Aziraphale is to lend his aid to Noah, the just man and his family that have been chosen to survive and so multiply and repopulate the land. With that many animals on the Ark, he’s going to need as much help as he can get.

There is a demon nearby and he knows he recognizes him. The demon Crawley. But he doesn’t know where he is exactly. He has not felt him in the intervening years so their paths had not crossed. Until now it seems. The demon is getting closer. And closer. And…

“Aziraphale,” the demon’s voice rings out from behind him and Aziraphale turns to him.

“Crawley,” he greets nervously. He is always nervous anymore it seems. He hadn’t been back… well before he was Aziraphale.

“Giving the humans a flaming sword, how did that turn out for you?” Crawley asks.

“The Almighty hasn’t actually mentioned it again,” Aziraphale admits, wringing his hands. But he hadn’t Fallen. It must have been a part of Her Plan. Somehow. For some Reason he isn’t permitted to know. But it also doesn’t seem She told head office.

“Probably a good thing,” Crawley says and Aziraphale thinks the same. “What’s all this then, build a big boat and fill it with a travelling zoo?”

Aziraphale’s chest clenches. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. Being a demon and all but...” Aziraphale pauses and reconsiders. What’s the harm? “I hear God’s a bit tetchy. Wiping out the human race.” He looks around nervously. “Big storm.” He gestures.

“All of them?” Crawley asks him and Aziraphale can hear something in his voice he doesn’t recognize. Maybe he’s just as upset as Aziraphale?

“Just the locals. I don’t believe God is upset with the Chinese. Or the Native Americans. Or the Australians.” Aziraphale lists hopefully.

“Yet,” Crawley says and Aziraphale doesn’t want to agree with him.

“And God’s not really going to wipe out _all_ the locals. Noah up there,” He gestures to the Ark. “His sons and their wives. They’ll all be fine.”

“But they are drowning everybody else?” Crawley emphasizes and Aziraphale nods miserably.

They both watch the children playing with the more innocuous animals before Crawley turns to him appalled. “Kids? You can’t kill kids.”

And Aziraphale thinks, _finally someone else who sees how wrong this is._

“That’s something you’d expect my lot to do.” Crawley continues and Aziraphale can’t help but nod again.

“I didn’t get a say in this,” Aziraphale reminds his companion. “And,” He continues with forced cheer. “When it’s over, God’s going to put up a new thing called a rainbow as a promise to not…” his cheer disappears, “drown everybody again.” He doesn’t know which of them he was trying to convince.

“How kind,” Crawley says and Aziraphale can feel the sarcasm dripping from him.

“You can’t judge the Almighty, Crawley. God’s plans are…”

“Are you going to say ineffable?” Crawley interrupts testily.

“Possibly,” Aziraphale admits.

“Still seems cruel if you ask me. Children haven’t made any choices to sin.” Crawley mutters and Aziraphale wrings his hands. He didn’t think so either. But it was not his place to judge or worse question the Almighty’s plans. He was just a Principality now. The rain starts and Crawley disappears probably to avoid the deluge to come and Aziraphale prepares to join the crew on the Ark to keep the animals calm as he can with his angelic grace.

He doesn’t run into the demon again until Sodom. He is showing the city to Raquiel another Principality who has been sent to help him. Or at least, they had intended that he be stationed for a time in Sodom while Aziraphale was in Gomorrah. But when the locals decide to attack them, and thank the Almighty for Lot and his daughters trying to take their places– saved them quite a bit of paperwork about having to fight off the humans – well it is decided that the cities are without hope and Raquiel is recalled back to Heaven. And Aziraphale is left in Sodom waiting for the city to be razed by the wrath of the Almighty.

He feels the demon approach when he hears his voice call out. “Angel, Heard there was some trouble with some angels in the city. That was you, I presume?”

Aziraphale hums distractedly. “Oh, yes. The townspeople were really quite rude.” He says crossly. Trying to attack an Angel of the Lord. Two of them even.

“That’s not what I heard. I heard they were a bit more than rude. Otherwise why would there be a smiting happening throughout the city? What were they trying to do?” Crawley asks.

“Well, what does it matter anymore?” Aziraphale asks back, waving away the question. He’d rather not dwell on what they were planning. “They are all going to die. Aside from that nice Lot. And his daughters.”

“What even was their sin?” Crawley asks and he is circling like Aziraphale is some sort of prey to be caught.

“Pride and Sloth. Mostly. And refusing to help the poor and destitute.” Aziraphale says. The demon won’t hurt him. He thinks. Still he is too nervous to bother trying to keep his eyes on the demon.

“I see. Not the desire to rape you?” Crawley asks and there is something in his voice Aziraphale can’t place.

Aziraphale cringes, “There is no need to be crude, Crawley.”

Crawley shrugs smoothly. “I had better get out of the city if there’s going to be smiting going on. Maybe take a trip up to the cliffs overlooking the city. Watch the show. Out of sight of the angels.” It sounds almost like an invitation. “Who are they sending to smite them?”

“Sandalphon,” Aziraphale answers readily, miserably.

“Bet he’s enjoying that.” Crawley says lowly.

Aziraphale just nods slightly. Sandalphon was vicious.

Crawley nods his head at him and walks away calling over his shoulder. “See you later, Angel.”

Aziraphale does not meet the demon Crawley again for many years. Aziraphale has been tasked to watch over Her chosen people. But it is hard when they are enslaved by the Egyptians. Crawley is somewhere in the city in the Egyptian sections while Aziraphale is relegated to the slaves quarters and then Pharaoh is ordering the young sons to be massacred. And Aziraphale is doing what he can but he can only save one. One small boy child sent to the river and up to the Palace.

It is after Moses is saved that Crawley seeks him out. Aziraphale has just returned to his home in the slaves district when he hears Crawley’s voice.

“Aziraphale, what are you doing in Egypt?” the demon asks.

“Taking care of Her chosen children. You?” Aziraphale asks, joining Crawley in his walking.

“Impersonating a priest in the Palace. Tempting them to idolatry.” He pauses. “You will never believe, though, what’s come into the Palace.”

“Oh, won’t I?” Aziraphale asks nervously, wringing his hands.

“A slave boy. Pharaoh in his mercy has taken him in as his own son.” Crawley is leading him somewhere. Aziraphale finds he doesn’t mind.

“And it had nothing to do with you at all, fiend?” Aziraphale asks wryly. Wouldn’t that be ironic? The demon saving one of Her chosen.

“Me?” Crawley asks, amused. “I can’t go around helping Her chosen children like that.” It sounds genuine but a weak argument.

“Then I suppose you were responsible for the death of the young sons?” Aziraphale accuses him but he knows it isn’t true. He hopes it isn’t true.

“Not a thing.” and Aziraphale sighs in relief. “Pharaoh thought that one up on his own.”

They walk on in silence. Aziraphale seeing parts of the city that he has never had the opportunity to witness before. It is beautiful. The silence is not heavy or awkward and Aziraphale slowly relaxes into the camaraderie of another celestial by his side, despite it being a demon instead of another angel. Aziraphale does not get along with his fellow angels. It is too awkward for him to have memories of being an Archangel and now to be treated like a burdensome Principality.

Soon they are at the Palace doors and Crawley is gesturing him in. “Come. Dine with me, Angel.”

Aziraphale balks. “I really shouldn’t. Angel’s don’t really need food. And I should be getting back to the Slaves district.” He demurs.

“Angel’s may not need it but there is no harm in partaking a little bit. Just a few bites.” Crawley says and his voice is so smooth and comforting. “It won’t kill you. Or discorporate you. Nor will it even cause you to Fall. I promise.” And Crawley is smiling so sincere.

“I… I suppose a nibble wouldn’t hurt?” Aziraphale asks swallowing heavily. He doesn’t want to leave this companionship. They had been having a nice walk.

“Not at all. Come in, Angel.” Crawley says and he opens the door and gestures him in. He follows the demon to what must be his quarters where there are platters of fruit and jugs of wine. Crawley slowly picks up a cup of wine and some grapes. He holds them out to Aziraphale and slowly he takes them as if it is someone else’s hands. “Here,” he hears Crawley say. “Just one bite. You wouldn’t want me to eat alone, would you?”

“I suppose it’s only polite,” Aziraphale says slowly. He won’t Fall just for eating something. And would it be so bad to Fall? Lucifer was Down there. Was leading them Down there. Isn’t seeing him sometimes worth it? Slowly he raises the cup to his lips and looking to Crawley for reassurance, which he receives in a smile, He lifts the cup to his lips, pauses for a breath, and gently tilts the cup back. The wine splashes gently against his mouth before he opens his lips and lets the liquid pour softly into his mouth and swallows.

They both wait a moment but he does not Fall. There is no burning, no ground opening, no Heavenly light reprimanding him. They both release the breath neither knew they were holding and Crawley smiles friendly and wide.

“See, Aziraphale. No harm done. Try the grapes next and I’ll have platters of meat brought in. How about some bread and honey?” Crawley asks, offering him some bread and honey.

“I… I suppose there is no harm in it.” Aziraphale takes a bite from Crawley’s hand as his own are full of wine and fruit. And he moans loudly in delight. It is delicious. The honey is so sweet. And sticks to his lips as he licks at them. Crawley keeps his word and has the Palace slaves bring up platters and platters of meat and dishes of all kinds, every kind of delicacy and feeds him from his own hand. A bite of this and bite of that. And Aziraphale moans and groans at each new flavour bursting on his tongue. He finishes not a single portion of food but finds his stomach fit to bursting by the end of the afternoon and well into the evening.

“It seems you’ve tried every delicacy that Egypt has to offer, Angel. And not a scorched feather to be found. I told you that you had nothing to fear from indulging a little.” Crawley says eventually. It wasn’t the Fall it was disappointing Her that he fears the most. But let the demon believe it is the Fall that scares him. Better than knowing the truth. That Aziraphale sometimes wishes he had Fallen with them.

“It seems you were right, Crawley. Do forgive my hesitancy. You were quite right. And food is simply delightful. The humans have come up with such marvellous flavours to satisfy their need to eat and drink.”

“They have indeed. So, shall I escort you back to your residence? Or would you be willing to stay the night with me?” Crawley asks lasciviously, his finger gently running along the back of Aziraphale’s hand.

Aziraphale panics. “Oh, you old fiend. That. I know, would most certainly be out of the question.” Aziraphale says forcefully. He can’t. Not with someone besides his Lucifer. His true and only love. The one he was made to love.

“Relax, angel. I was joking,” Crawley smiles friendly and open and picks up Aziraphale’s hand to press a chaste kiss to the knuckles. He stands slowly and offers his hand to help Aziraphale up. “Let’s get you back in one piece.”

Aziraphale accepts the hand up and together they make their way in silence back to the slave quarters. Once outside his residence, Crawley speaks up to say. “See you around, Angel.”

Aziraphale opens the door to his residence saying, “Oh, oh, yes, quite.” He says, almost sad to be leaving the demon’s company. He watches the demon walk away thinking he was really quite lonely here on Earth, alone. Without Lucifer or even his brother Archangels. But then again. None of them remembered him. It really was… quite lonely.

It is years later when he is walking through the slaves work site that he is accosted by one of the Egyptian slave drivers and whipped. He is thankful that human weapons don’t leave physical scars on his angelic body but he is saved from having to defend himself by Moses, the young boy he had saved but the poor thing murders the slave driver for him. Moses must get out, so with some miracles again to hide Moses’ flight, he repays his debt.

When Moses does return, he brings with him Her wrath for the Egyptians and Aziraphale feels for the innocent citizens that have so little to do with the Pharaohs decisions. But Her children need to be freed. He does go to paint the blood on the doorways of those truly innocent and that is when Crawley again finds him.

“Angel, What are you doing?” Crawley greets taking the bucket of blood from his hands. He tries to get the bucket back to continue his work but Crawley is quite strong and he doesn’t want to hurt him.

“Painting the blood on the doorways so Azrael will leave these houses be when he comes to kill the first born sons of Egypt.” He answers and lets Crawley hold the bucket while he works.

“Oh, so She is really going through with it? Killing kids again, I mean. Funny how they are always the first to suffer Her wrath.” Crawley muses.

“Not the first. The last though. Pharaoh will have to let them go after this?” It is more a question than a statement. And he is not expecting an answer when Crawley gives him one.

“I’m sure he will, yes.” Aziraphale isn’t sure he believes him.

They work in silence through the evening. And finish at Aziraphale’s home. And as Azrael works they sit in silence keeping vigil over the Egyptian city. Aziraphale basks in the companionship even if it is of a demon. And is thankful he isn’t alone this night.

When the sun begins to rise, Crawley takes his leave and Aziraphale listens in misery to the cries of the Egyptian mothers and fathers waking to find their firstborn sons dead in their beds. He knows that Pharaoh will let them go, he would be a fool not to so he packs the few things he will need for the trip mainly just his clothes and sandals and makes his way out of his home to help the slaves prepare to leave. He is in the throng when the Egyptians drive them from the city and when they reach the shore of the sea. He watches as Moses communes with the Metatron and the sea splits open and the Jews make their way through. And he swallows heavily at the sound of the Pharaoh screaming in rage and the despair as the sea closes up and he and his horses and men drown.

Aziraphale is not involved directly in the birth of the Christ child but he is involved in making sure the wise men get there. And he is there at the crucifixion. And so is the demon Crawley.

“Come to smirk at the poor bugger have you?” Crawley asks, amused. And Aziraphale does a double take.

“Smirk? Me?” Aziraphale protests.

“Well your lot put him up there.” She says and Aziraphale feels miserable. He had listened to this Jesus’ words and felt they were Her plan for the humans but ineffable mercy for the humans felt somehow hollow when his Lucifer did not merit such treatment.

“I am not consulted on policy decisions, Crawley.” He says cringing as the hammer hits home.

“I’ve changed it.” Crawley says and Aziraphale is confused.

“Changed what?” he asks.

“My name. Crawley just wasn’t doing it for me. A bit too squirming at your feet-ish.” Crawley says and Aziraphale can see her point.

“Well you were a snake.” he says anyways. “So, what is it now? Mephistopheles? Asmodeus?” He remembers hearing of those two demons causing trouble recently.

“Crowley,” She says. And Aziraphale tilts his head. It works. Fits her in a way. The hammer hits again and they both flinch.

“Did you ever meet him?” Aziraphale asks. He had met him several times, he was close to the group though not one of the apostles. But couldn’t remember if the demon, though she had been following the group, had ever had cause to run into him.

“Yes. Seemed a rather bright young man.” She admits. “I showed him all the kingdoms of the world.”

“Why?” Aziraphale asks, confused.

“He’s a carpenter from Galilee and this is first century Palestine. His travel opportunities were limited.” And then the demon winces. “Ouch. That has got to hurt. What was it he said that got everyone so upset again?”

“Be kind to one another.” Aziraphale tells him sadly.

“Ah. That’ll do it.” Crowley says wryly. They watch in silence as the young man they had both known breathes his last breath and Crowley speaks again. “I suppose I should get going. Humans aren’t going to tempt themselves. Well, actually they seem to do pretty well without me. But you know. Image to maintain.”

“Oh, of course. See you around? Crowley?” Aziraphale asks timidly and almost hates the way his voice sounds, wanting and alone.

“Of course, angel,” Crowley says and turns to leave. And Aziraphale watches him go with a sad smile. He looks back up to the man on the cross and he too takes his leave. There is nothing more to done for him and his job guiding and guarding his followers is only just beginning.


	3. The Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley come to an Arrangement.

Aziraphale is in Rome. It was not his idea to be in Rome but Heaven had sent word. There was a young boy that needed guidance named Nero, the son of an Emperor. Or by the time Aziraphale got there, former Emperor. But he takes young Nero under his metaphorical wing and teaches him the lute. He is in a bar not far from the Palace estates when he feels Crawley’s signature moving closer. He had noticed the demon coming into town but hadn’t thought to run into him so soon. It is only 8 years after that nasty business with the crucifixion.

He is playing a game by himself when he feels the demon pass just behind him. And he sits up in excitement. Crawley. His… well his enemy but the only other celestial being on Earth. And he had proved to be good companionship in the past. He gets up and makes his way to the bar where the demon is sitting wearing some kind of dark glasses hiding his perfectly unique eyes.

“Crawley, Crowley.” He corrects himself. “Fancy running into you here.” He takes a seat. “Still a demon then?”

“What kind of a question is that? Still a demon then? What am I going to be an aardvark?” Crowley says irritably and Aziraphale feels his heart drop. Oh.

“Just… trying to make conversation.” He says hesitantly.

“Well don’t.” the demon says.

Aziraphale contemplates leaving but… it is so nice to have someone else who understands what he is, even if he doesn’t _know_ who he is. He sits in silence thinking even silent companionship is still companionship, right?

Crowley sighs. “Cup of wine?” he asks and Aziraphale looks up hopefully from where he had been studying the bar. “It’s the house wine – dark.” Crowley doesn’t wait for an answer before speaking to the bartender. “A cup for my acquaintance here.” And as she hands it over and the demon pours him a cup, Aziraphale smiles.

“Salutaria!” Aziraphale toasts before taking a drink. “In Rome long?” He decides to try again for conversation. Something simpler, safer.

“Just nipped in for a quick temptation.” Crowley says but he is at lest talking. They are having a conversation.

“Tempting anyone special?” Aziraphale asks.

“Emperor Caligula. Frankly, he doesn’t actually need any tempting to be appalling. Going to report it back to head office as a massive success. You?” the demon asks perfunctorily.

“They want me to influence a boy called Nero. I thought I’d get him interested in music. Improve him.” Aziraphale tells him. He shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t be drinking wine with the enemy but… he misses this. Talking to others like him.

“Couldn’t hurt.” Crowley says. “So, what else are you up to while you’re in Rome?”

“I thought I’d try Petronius’ new restaurant. I hear he does remarkable things to oysters.” He confides and wiggles in excitement. He had to get that under control. His body always had had a habit of moving when he was excited. He couldn’t ruffle his wings so his whole body moved instead. Lucifer had thought it was endearing. He is suddenly sad but refuses to dwell while with this demon. His acquaintance.

“I’ve never eaten and oyster,” Crowley admits into his cup.

Aziraphale sits up excitedly once again. “Well, then let me tempt…” He trails off at Crowley’s incredulous but amused look. “Oh. But that… that’s your job, isn’t it?”

Crowley is smiling at his faux pas. “Is that an offer, Aziraphale?” He asks, sounding amused.

“Well, I mean. Yes?” Aziraphale offers hesitantly.

“I would love to try oysters with you, Angel.” Crowley nearly purrs.

“Oh. Oh, well,” Aziraphale feels a wide smile split his face. “Then may I escort you there?” he offers.

“Perfect.” Crowley purrs and stands.

Aziraphale stands as well, and leaving the jug and cups where they are he leads the way through the bar and out into the streets of Rome. Petronius’ place isn’t far and the walk is taken in companionable silence.

Soon, they are walking through the door and Aziraphale is requesting a room. He doesn’t eat often but he had learned that his appreciation for food, while flattering for the chef’s, was not appreciated by the populace. He does hope that Crowley isn’t put off by it. He had been trying to get a hold of himself but he just loses himself in the sensations of the food and quite forgets himself.

They get a room and the oysters are brought with a jug of wine and two cups. And Aziraphale digs in. They are delicious. He swallows them down and moans before he remembers himself and tries to quiet himself. He succeeds only minimally. But Crowley doesn’t seem to mind. He has tried the oysters but seems more interested in the wine.

“How long do you plan to stay in Rome?” Crowley asks quietly after several oysters.

“For a while. At least until Nero is properly blessed, I suppose. But I do need to get back to Mesopotamia as well. The new Christians are growing slowly but steadily. They need guidance and protection.” Aziraphale admits between oysters.

“Yes, the Christians.” Crowley says and he detects a hint of bitterness but he himself is slightly bitter as well. His Lucifer doesn’t get Mercy but the humans do? So he ignores it.

“I suppose you will be staying for a while as well?” Aziraphale asks instead.

“Yes, for a while. I have a place in one of the estates if you would like to join me.” Crowley offers.

Aziraphale wants to say no. He should say no. But also, Lucifer is gone. He won’t have him back. And the companionship of Crowley is nice. More than nice. He enjoys it. And Crowley obviously wants this. And Aziraphale wants his companionship. Would he Fall for it? Would this be the test he fails?

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.” He says eventually.

“Come on, Angel. There’s no harm in it. You and I both know sodomy wasn’t the sin at Sodom or Gomorrah. What are you afraid of?” Crowley leans in his voice is soft and low. His hand runs gently up and down Aziraphale’s arm nearest to him. “I can promise to make it good for you.”

Aziraphale is quite sure that he could. That he would. But… “What if Heaven finds out? Or Hell? No. No, it just wouldn’t be right.” He knows his voice is not strong enough in his conviction. He knows that Crowley will push.

“They won’t find out. Pleasures of the flesh aren’t the sin, Aziraphale.” Crowley purrs practically in Aziraphale’s lap.

“Enough Crowley. I entertained the idea for you but I refuse to follow through. And if you continue to push I will leave you here by yourself.” And he knows it’s an empty threat.

“Alright, Angel.” Crowley says, surprising him. Slowly Crowley’s hand stops it’s gentle trailing over his arm and his hand comes to rest on Aziraphale’s, a gentle weight grounding him reminding him he isn’t alone. No matter what it may feel like.

The rest of the night passes in low conversation about the goings on in the palace and what the Emperor is likely to do next. And when the oysters are gone so too are they both. Crowley back to the palace estate and Aziraphale to Nero’s home.

They both spend some time in Rome but they do not meet again. They have work to be doing other than socializing with the enemy and Aziraphale misses it. But soon Nero is cemented as an Emperor and Aziraphale is being sent back to the middle east to watch over the Christians.

It isn’t long though before he is back in Rome having heard about the atrocities committed there to his new wards.

He finds the demon Crowley deep in his cups in the Palace.

“Crowley,” he hisses angrily.

“Ngk” Crowley mutters from his place on the floor.

“Crowley, get up right now.” He commands pushing the power of Her Grace into his voice. It perhaps is not the approved use of the Grace but it gets the job done.

“Wha-? Wha-ou wan-?” Crowley asks, squinting up at him.

“Crowley, what happened?” Aziraphale demands.

“I dun-. ‘m drunk.”Crowley says quietly as he tries to lever himself up into a standing position.

“I can see that. I meant what happened with Nero? Oh, do sober up.” He says exasperated at watching Crowley struggle.

He waits a moment until Crowley's face clears of concentration and drink then frowns at him.

“What do you want, Aziraphale?”

“I want to know why my protege is murdering people.” Aziraphale hisses.

“I don’t know. All I did was let him know his mother was trying to kill him and he spun out from there. I had nothing to do with it. Not about those Christians either. Or poor Locusta.” Crowley admitted.

“I believe you, Crowley. God help me but I believe you.” Aziraphale sighs. And he did. He didn’t know why. Only that he _wanted_ to believe Crowley. And so he did.

“You… You do?” Crowley asks rather more timidly than he usually was.

“Yes. But Heaven is not pleased.” Aziraphale says. They were more than not pleased. They were positively enraged. Nero was supposed to be their champion in Rome. Instead he was murdering Her new chosen people.

“I don’t imagine they would be.” Crowley told him seriously.

“Well… well,” Aziraphale begins and can’t bother to finish. They both know.

“Yeah.” Crowley agrees and that was all that was said on that. Aziraphale eyes Crowley once more and then turns around and walks away.

Aziraphale works hard to guard the Christians from then on in Rome and soon has the whole of the Roman empire converted and the old gods torn down. He gives the credit to the humans as he always does. It is after all their hard work. And their sacrifice. Heaven seems to agree as he doesn’t receive any word of commendation on the matter, not that he needs it. It just… would feel nice to be appreciated for all he does and sacrifices himself to be down here. Camaraderie for one, his love for two. He follows the Christianity up and into the wilds of the north and to the Isle. England. Or what will one day be called England. He is in the court of King Arthur spreading Peace, Tranquillity, and Unity. Then he hears of the Black Knight. Fighting against King Arthur’s rule. He volunteers to go out and talk sense into him. He doesn’t approve of fighting to put down discord. Firmly believes you can talk things out.

He has reached near the Black Knights encampment and is calling out to meet with him. Perhaps not the most intelligent thing to do but the fog was so thick he didn’t want to come up on them unawares. That was likely to end in a fight. So, he calls out. “Hello. I Sir Aziraphale of the Table Round am here to speak to the Black Knight.”

There are figures in the fog. They beckon him forward and he goes hesitantly. And then he senses Crawley coming towards him. He had known the demon was in the area but to feel him so close was nerve-wracking. And then he sees the Black Knight and he speaks.

“You have sought the Black Knight, foolish one, but you have found your death.”

“Is that you under there, Crawley?” He asks confused.

“Cr _ow_ ley,” Craw-Crowley corrects.

“What on Earth are you playing at?” Aziraphale asks rather testily. He came to speak to a human he could convince to join the court.

“It’s alright, lads. I know him. He’s alright.” Crowley says to the other figures he hadn’t noticed circling him. Then Crowley addresses him. “I’m here spreading foment.”

“Is that a kind of porridge?” Aziraphale asks, wondering what that has to do with being the Black Knight.

“No!” Crowley says. “I’m, you know, fomenting dissent and discord. King Arthur’s spread a bit too much peace and tranquillity in the land so I’m here, you know… fomenting.” He explains patiently.

“I’m, er, meant to be… fomenting peace,” Aziraphale admits hesitating. He shouldn’t be speaking to this demon but...oh it’s been so long since he’s spoken to another celestial. His orders from Above come down through papers left on his desk. He hasn’t spoken to anyone in centuries.

“So we are both working very hard in damp places and cancelling each other out?” Crowley asks.

“You could say that. It is a bit damp.” Aziraphale agrees the damp was rusting and chafing his armour.

“Be easier if we both stayed home. Sent messages back to Head Office saying we’d done everything they asked for.” Crowley suggests and his voice is soft, his words hissing and slurring.

“That would be lying.” Aziraphale says weakly and he knows his voice is not confident. But he doesn’t feel confident right now. It would be lying but… it is also… tempting.

“Possibly. But the end result would be the same. Cancel each other out.” Crowley says.

“But, my dear fellow, they would check. Michael’s a bit of a stickler. And you do not want to get Gabriel upset with you.” He admits nervously. Michael always was cold and hard and Gabriel, the youngest of the Archangels with his temper but he made up for it with his ego

“My lot have more to do than verify compliance reports from Earth. As long as they get the paperwork they seem happy enough. As long as you seem to be doing something, now and again.” Crowley offers softly.

“No No, out of the question. I am not having this conversation. I’m leaving.” This is why he shouldn’t talk to the demon.

“Alright, Angel. No more talk of shirking our duties. What else are you up to with Good King Arthur?” Crowley asks as Aziraphale turns away.

Aziraphale pauses, maybe Crowley is just as alone as Aziraphale. “Not much,” he says, hesitantly turning back around. “Just questing and such. Taking part in tournaments.”

“Tournaments?” Crowley asks. “I would love to see that. Maybe I’ll see you there someday.”

Aziraphale hums agreeably. “Yes? Maybe. Yes.” But Crowley is already turning around and walking away. He fades into the fog and Aziraphale watches him go before he too turns to his horse and makes his way back to the castle.

He thinks of Crowley the next time he hears of a tournament and signs up. He is getting ready in the tent set aside for him when a hand is placed on his shoulder and he jumps. He had felt the demon nearby but did not expect him here when he is in his tunic and leggings before he is dressed.

“Angel, you sure are jumpy. Nervous?” Crowley's voice rings out softly.

“Crowley,” he sighs and turns around. “What are you doing here?”

“I did promise to come see you compete, did I not?” She asks teasingly.

“Like that?” Aziraphale asks flustered. Crowley didn’t often take a feminine form after all.

“And why not? The Black Knight may not be able to attend but a young lass like myself would hardly be out of place here. Besides you else would you pledge your service to?”

“Crowley, that’s not...what are you doing?” Aziraphale asks as Crowley steps into his space and up against his body.

“I haven’t forgotten how you wanted to come to my estate in Rome. Is this form a better one to ask you again?” She asks lowly her face mere millimetres away from his.

“Oh,” Aziraphale feels his face heat up. “No. No, I can’t. It would be completely wrong.” His voice is a whisper but with as close as she is, she hears it anyway. He’s not sure if he is thankful for that or not.

“Not completely.” Her voice is just as soft as his own is. “What are you afraid of, Angel? Earthly pleasures aren’t necessarily sinful. Just a little fun between friends.” Her gaze drops to his lips and his own gaze drops to hers. His eyes jump up to meet her gaze as she raises her eyes to meet his gaze. Her fingers trail up his chest to tangle in the ties of his tunic. He wants. He does. And it scares him his desire. Not the Fall. Though by now he’s come to terms with the fact that Lucifer will never be his again. At least until the sun goes down and he lies in bed pretending to sleep to keep up appearances

“Friends?” Are they friends? He clears his throat gently. “I think I should continue getting dressed.” He suggests softly and her face falls.

“Must you?” She asks gently.

“Crowley, if anyone finds out. They’ll destroy us.” It’s true and yet not the whole truth. He wants. He wants her, him, whatever form Crowley is in. He wants to be near them and talk with them and if that means he has to… well, with them he wants that too. But it scares him. He’s been left alone down here for so long, is it wrong to want that with a demon? Is it Crowley he wants or would he be content with any celestial being? And why can’t it be his Lucifer? He feels like crying. But good angels don’t cry. Good angels are soldiers and they endure. Aziraphale has never felt less like a good angel.

He sees Crowley pout before she steps back and picks up the breastplate beside them. “I don’t think they would destroy us, Aziraphale.” She says.

“Maybe not you. But I would be. Or Fallen. No angels have Fallen since the Beginning. I can’t be the first in millennia.” And it’s not what he wants to say. He wants to say, _yes. Please. Hold me again. Don’t leave me here alone._ But he is also afraid of the Fall. Of burning. And so he says no.

“But you want to.” Crowley says and it is a question and an affirmation. Her voice is quiet and sad, eyes downcast as she plays with the metal in her hands.

“My dear, I am quite sure it would be just as enjoyable as the food you introduced me to. But we can’t.” He says firmly but quietly, hoping he can convince himself just as much as her. His hands reach out to brush against Crowley’s delicate wrist and takes the breastplate from her hands.

“I understand,” Crowley says, straightening and meeting Aziraphale’s eyes and he thinks. _No. you really don’t._ “I had best let you get ready. See you around, Angel.” She says as she turns to leave.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says quietly. “Will you still watch?”

“Course, angel. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Front row seat, me.” Crowley smiles at him and his heart flutters, his chest clenches and then she is gone.

Aziraphale was not made for combat. He was made for creating and healing. But She made him into a soldier and gave him the gifts needed to be one. And so no human can stand in the way of the might of Heaven. He trounces his opponents being sure not to injure any of them. They are after all the men he surrounds himself with these days. Not quite friends for an angel must always hold themselves apart from the humans they guide and protect. Or at least, Aziraphale must hold his heart away from them, else he break when they, as all humans do, die.

And so Aziraphale takes care with his opponents and hurts only their pride And wins each day of the three day tournament. And Crowley is in the front row each day watching him. And his chest feels heavy at the end of each day without her. At the end of the tournament, he watches for her but she has gone back to be the Black Knight and he feels Crowley get further and further away from him.

As all things the humans make, the kingdom of King Arthur does not last forever. Aziraphale does not leave the island and about 500 years later he runs into the demon again. He is in the court of King Cnut trying to keep England united and safe. He is a Principality. Guardian of kingdoms and nations of people and he has chosen England as his people. Heaven doesn’t much care where he makes his base of operations as long as he goes where they tell him to go and so England is where he stays.

He takes up residence in a monastery near London when he gets the order to ensure England is united. It already is but he must ensure it stays so for a little while at least. As long as human kingdoms ever stay united.

He feels the demon Crowley getting closer when he sees him at court.

“Angel,” Crowley greets.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale greets him back. “What are you doing here?”

“Just got back from a trip to Head Office. Absolutely despise it. Cramped as anything. No space to spread your wings.” Crowley says stretching his back as if to spread his wings. And perhaps he has on the celestial plane.

“I see” Aziraphale responds distractedly but with sympathy. Cramped wings were a nightmare. Not that he would know. He never got a chance to stretch his wings for millennia. He hasn’t been back to head office in that time and even when he has it has been perfunctory and quick. No time for stretching wings or flying.

“And yourself?” Crowley asks.

“I’m here trying to spread peace. Still.” He wrings his hands. This was a waste of his time.

“Ah, not going well?” Crowley asks sympathetically.

“If you must know I would rather be in the monastery. I’ve taken up calligraphy and I’m falling behind on my work there. But… Heaven,” he sighs,” thinks it’s a waste of my time. But who else is going to write the truth of what happened down?”

“I see. I’m meant to be spreading dissent. Too bad I can’t take care of your job for you and you can go back to your writing.” Crowley says helpfully.

“Oh. Oh, would you?” Aziraphale asks hopefully. Why a demon would want to help an angel is beyond him but Crowley has never been a regular demon. He has a heart and they are friends.

“It would have to be reciprocated at some point.” Crowley says. “If we came to some sort of an Arrangement. Rules we both agree to.” he offers. “I mean what head office doesn’t know won’t hurt them. As long as the work gets done.”

Aziraphale eyes him slowly. Thinking. “I couldn’t possibly do temptations. I… I wouldn’t know where to start.” He’s never done a temptation before. But… if Crowley is offering to help him. Then of course he should repay it.

“It’s easy. Mostly the humans tempt themselves. Just a nudge in one direction or the other. Just like you can’t make them do Good deeds, I can’t make them do Bad deeds. Just a suggestion is all it takes.” Crowley tells him. His voice is low and Aziraphale finds himself straining to catch every syllable. He doesn’t want to miss a moment of Crowley's voice.

“I still… I don’t know.” Aziraphale frets. It sounds too good to be true. He could get back to doing what he enjoys without Heaven breathing down his neck. And he could help his friend.

“Why don’t you dine with me and we can talk it over?” Crowley offers gently

Aziraphale hesitates only a moment before nodding his head and gesturing Crowley to lead the way. Crowley takes them to a tavern and a corner table with several jugs of honey mead.

“First of all,” Crowley begins by pouring them both a cup of mead. “We need ground rules. After all, it’s been very nice these past millennia to not worry about you smiting me back to Hell.”

“Of course, dear fellow. That wouldn’t be very sporting.” Aziraphale responds, taking a drink of his mead.

“But, of course, if we are going to be… cooperating. We need to just…” Crowley trails off.

“Just what?”

“Just stay out of the way. No active sabotage. I agree not to go after your proteges anymore and you stay away from my temptations.” Crowley suggests.

“How am I supposed to know your temptations?” Aziraphale asks. He is frightened. And his voice is whisper thin and full of nerves.

“Well," Crowley says softly. "A little more cooperation. I tell you. We will need to meet up and see each other periodically. Catch each other up on what we have been doing. What plans you thwarted, what temptations I’ve accomplished.” He pours another cup of mead.

“I…” Aziraphale wets his lips. “I can agree to stay out of the way if you agree the same.” Aziraphale answers nervously, eyes darting around the room and up above before settling on Crowley’s face. He shouldn’t be doing this. But they would need to meet up. And he’s been so alone. Ever since Lucifer...no. Ever since She took him from the minds of his brothers and sisters.

“Good. Good,” Crowley says gently. “I can agree to that as well. Now, to me covering your blessing for you. You want to get back to your monastery and I want to get back to drinking. So, I go do your blessing of the king’s court and you go back to working on your bibles.” Aziraphale’s eyes light up and his smile brightens their little corner of the tavern. His work. “But, you will have to repay the favour in the future.” And Crowley's words dampen his smile.

“By doing a temptation.” Aziraphale says.

“By doing a temptation.” Crowley agrees.

“And how will I… do that?” He asks.

“The same way you do your guiding. Just suggestions whispered in the right ears.” Crowley tells him gently. “It’s not so very different. Only the intent changes.”

“I… what if I Fall?” Aziraphale asks worriedly. He wants to say, _will he take me back? Will he remember me then?_ But he doesn’t. It’s not about the Fall it’s about the burning. And losing what he’s already lost.

“You didn’t Fall for eating or drinking. You won’t Fall for this. It isn’t even really a miracle or anything of the sort. It’s just words.” Crowley assures him. He wants to believe him.

“I… I suppose. I can do that.” He swallows heavily. “Just words. And when do you want to do this… switch?”

“When needed. When our Head Offices are asking a touch too much. They don’t know what’s going on up here, or down here for you. They don’t understand the humans like we do. What it really takes to get someone’s soul.”

“Lend a hand when needed.” Aziraphale suggests.

“Exactly.” Crowley says with a friendly smile. Aziraphale hesitates and slowly nods his head once. There is no going back.

“Then let’s shake on it” Crowley offers his hand. “Our Arrangement. Stay out of the way and lend a hand when needed.”

Aziraphale pauses a moment. Doing this, there is no turning back. He can’t renege on this. Not and keep his friend. Still he reaches out and grabs hold. Their hands clasp together for a moment before Aziraphale lets go as if scalded.

“Right. So, who’s first?” he asks nervously.

“Well, I was supposed to be tempting some priests to gluttony and greed. But I would rather be in the king’s court drinking wine. And weren’t you supposed to be guiding the king into a peaceful reign?”

“Yes. I was helping the king.” Aziraphale agrees.

“Then let me lend the king a hand and you go back to your monastery. Go back to your bibles and let me unite the kingdom. Truth is,” Crowley's voice drops as if imparting a secret. “I kind of miss doing Good deeds. I never meant to Fall, Aziraphale. I just… hung around with the wrong people. You’re doing me a favour really.”

“You… really?” Aziraphale asks timidly. He knows he is nervous and his voice reflects that but he is meant to be a soldier. Why does it come so arduously to him?

“I promise,” Crowley purrs.

“Very well. I will try to get the monks to indulge greedily. I just have to suggest it right? It’s their choice to follow through.”

“Exactly,” Crowley reassures him. They both toast to an Arrangement that will help them both.

Aziraphale finishes his mead and then heads back to the monastery. He finds the Abbot and the prior of his monastery and asks a question. Why not hire others to do the labour and they can dedicate themselves to other pursuits? And they agree. Hiring labourers to do the gardening for the abbey. But then he remembers Gluttony and Greed. So he asks another question. Why not drink the wine in the cellar? It’s harmless. What could a little extra do? And they take to it. Drinking greedily and getting drunk until there is no wine left then stealing money from the townspeople to purchase more wine. And more stealing and more wine. He looks in horror at what he has done but then remembers. They had a choice.

When Crowley comes to check on him Aziraphale is relieved. He feels the demon approaching and hears his voice call out to him quietly when he sneaks into the library.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley hisses.

“Crowley. Thank Heaven you’ve come.” He stands and approaches the window with Crowley to look out on what he has wrought. “I did what you asked. Only I think I may have gone overboard. I decided to start with the Abbot because he would have to be the one to lead the others and the prior but when I asked why they didn’t spend the money on serfs so the monks could dedicate themselves to other pursuits, they took to it immediately. But you specifically said Gluttony and Greed. So I had them indulge in drink and they got addicted to being drunk. And they needed more and more money to buy more and more wine and mead and well… you see what happened.” Aziraphale says distressed.

“No. No. That’s… that’s fine. Great even I, uh…” Crowley swallows and turns to face him. “King Cnut is joining England with Denmark and Norway and has united the land under a peaceful rule. Most of his army has sailed home.”

“Oh, oh… good. So, our deal. It’s done?” Aziraphale asks. Nervously. They had both upheld their parts.

“Yes. We just need to keep going like usual. And meet up to keep each other informed of what’s happening in our orders.” Crowley tells him. He seems stunned. Aziraphale is also amazed that things turned out so well.

“Oh good. I’d best get back to work.” Aziraphale says when what he wants to say is, _stay._

“Of course. See you around, angel” Crowley says and slips back outside of the monastery.

Crowley keeps his word they do spend more time together that century and the next. They switch out minor cases when one is going to the area that the other is needed in. All in all, Aziraphale is happy with it. And he looks forward to seeing his… his friend every so often. He wonders why he hasn’t Fallen but like Crowley said, he isn't’ really the one doing anything wrong.


	4. For his own safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley keep running into each other and Aziraphale is tempted.

When the Black Death comes to England, Aziraphale is devastated. He tries to heal the sick and gets a visit from Gabriel who tells him in no uncertain terms that he is not permitted those miracles. He doesn’t have the appropriate clearance. Raphael… no he hasn’t been Raphael for over 5000 years but it still stings, doesn’t have clearance for his own Healing. It’s what he was made for. And he is not permitted to do so.

He wanders from sick house to sick house soothing the dead and dying. It is as he is moving from one sick house to the next that he feels Crowley coming up to him.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley greets him. He cannot find it in himself to smile for him.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says and he knows his voice is dead and numb. “What are you doing here?”

“Just came to check in. I’m not getting much tempting done lately with this ghastly plague. I assume you’ve been busy healing the sick?” Crowley asks sarcastically and Aziraphale winces.

“Oh, well… no.” Aziraphale looks down guiltily. “Heaven refuses to allow me to use my miracles like that. I tried and got a visit from Gabriel and a strongly worded lecture about hiding our presence from the humans. I have been permitted to ease their passing, however.” He tells him, hoping for sympathy from a demon.

“Sorry to hear it,” Crowley says and Aziraphale almost sobs in relief. Someone who understands, finally. “It’s alright, Angel.” Crowley croons and places his hand on the back of Aziraphale’s neck and massages gently. Aziraphale tenses only a moment at the uncommon feeling of someone touching him.

“Crowley?” He nearly whimpers.

“It’s alright, Aziraphale. Come away. There’s nothing to be done for them.” Crowley says softly and guides Aziraphale further into the streets of London. Aziraphale resists for a moment but quickly allows himself to be led. He doesn’t want to be alone right now. “You’ve been working so hard lately, angel. Take a break and relax for a little while.” Crowley encourages gently. His voice is sweet and soft. And Aziraphale allows himself the comfort of being led.

Aziraphale is walking with his head down and eyes at half mast, soaking in the comfort of Crowley’s hand on the back of his neck. He follows obediently where Crowley leads. His trust in the demon 5000 years in the making. Crowley leads him into a flat and guides him to sit and then lay on the bed. And Aziraphale’s eyes shoot open.

“Crowley?” He asks scared for some reason he can’t fathom. This is Crowley. He wouldn’t hurt him.

“Hush, angel.” Crowley croons softly, his hands playing across Aziraphale’s chest. “Just relax. I can make this good for you. Just get some rest. You’ve been working so hard with no breaks. You deserve this.”

Aziraphale’s breathing picks up minutely. “Crowley, I’ve told you before I can’t.” Aziraphale says trying to stand up.

Crowley rolls his eyes and sits heavily on the bed next to Aziraphale’s waist. “Angel, I meant get some sleep. But if you would rather we…” he trails off as Aziraphale interrupts him.

“No,” Aziraphale says forcefully and blushes darkly. “I mean…” he trails off.

“You mean you don’t want to Fall.” Crowley agrees “But you are still so tired, angel. Just a little sleep. Just until morning. I’ll stay and wake you.”

“I… Crowley,” Aziraphale says tearfully. It isn’t about Falling. He isn’t scared of that. But about the fallout from it. Heaven would kill Crowley and what would Aziraphale have if he Fell. Crowley? Lucifer? He would be just as alone Down there as he is Up here. And at the thought, he begins to cry. He gives a heavy sob and Crowley reaches out to him. Aziraphale clings to his hand and as Crowley encourages him silently to lay back down, he does. And feels Crowley wrap himself around him and still Aziraphale cries, sobbing into the arm across his chest and turning into the demon next to him. Eventually he cries himself out, another point against him as an angel, and breathes in slowly and falls asleep.

Eventually Aziraphale stirs and turns his head to inhale the scent of… “Crowley,” he sighs and burrows deeper into the scent of the demon he… loves? His eyes pop open and he backs away from the demon he had been burrowed into.

He feels Crowley’s arms tighten around him before they fall away and the demon stands up abruptly. “Angel,” Crowley clears his throat. “How did you sleep? Enjoy it?” He isn’t looking at him but then seems to steel himself to meet his gaze.

“I… did.” Aziraphale says softly. _Maybe… maybe he is angry for crying all over him?_ ”Crowley,” He takes a breath to steel himself. “I am so sorry for… weeping all over you yesterday. It was just yesterday, wasn’t it?” He asks timidly. Why does he have so much trouble being a good angel around this demon?

“Yeah, angel. It was just yesterday.” Crowley admits. He pauses a moment before reaching out a hand to Aziraphale. “How do you feel today? Rested?” He asks gently.

“Yes, though I do not think it is something I will indulge in on my own except in extenuating circumstances.”Aziraphale says. He takes the offered hand but stays sitting where he is.

“I see. Well, if you ever need a hand let me know. I’m very good at… lending a hand.” Crowley finishes softly and brings Aziraphale's hand up to press a chaste kiss against the knuckles.

“I… Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers breathlessly staring up at the demon.

“Angel,” Crowley whispers back just as breathlessly their gazes locked and Aziraphale curses those stupid glasses. He trembles a moment before standing up.

Crowley lets the hand in his grasp drop slowly back to Aziraphale’s side and steps in close, body a hairsbreadth away from Aziraphale’s. Crowley's hand comes up as if to cup Aziraphale’s cheek so gently the touch never makes it there. “Aziraphale,” the word is an exhale of breath more than a word with separate syllables.

He wants to say _Please kiss me._ He wants to say _please let me go._ He wants to say _I love you._ He says none of it. Instead he sighs, “Crowley,” and it is a plea and a protest all in one.

Crowley snatches his hand back as if burnt and steps away. Aziraphale watches him go and he knows his gaze is hurt and sorrowful but he can’t bear to hide it behind a mask.

Crowley takes a deep breath and turns away. “You should get back to tending your sick.” he says quietly.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs, “See you… around?” Aziraphale asks, hurt. At Crowley’s nod, he nods his head despite Crowley not being able to see him and leaves the flat. He wanders London until he reaches another sick house and this time, he does not go in. He turns around and walks back to the flat he is staying in. Far from Crowley’s.

Crowley does not seek him out again and he misses their mid century meeting to discuss their assignments, their thwartings and wile-ings. So he resolves to go find him. And find him he does. On the mainland. In Spain. Drunk.

“Crowley,” he sighs and picks Crowley up off the table he is draped over. “What have you done to yourself this time?”

“They jus- keep hur-in’ each o’er. Di’n e’en ssssay t’,” Crowley slurs drunkenly as Aziraphale picks him bodily off the floor and with a nod to the barkeep hauls him up to a room above the tavern.

“Come along, my dear. You need to sober up. Don’t make me do it for you. It will not be pleasant.” Aziraphale says sternly and places Crowley on the bed.

Crowley inhales deeply and squints up at him for a moment before sighing and nodding. Suddenly he gives a groan of discontent and says testily, “What do you want, Aziraphale?”

“You missed our mid-century meeting. You remember? Meet up, catch up on plans for the century, fill out our reports for the last one. You missed it.” Aziraphale answers just as testily. “What have you been up to over here?” he asks.

“Drinking, obviously. What does it even matter to you anyways? I’m a fucking demon.” Crowley bites out venomously.

Aziraphale recoils as if slapped. “My dear, is that all you think of yourself?” He asks appalled.

“It’s true. She’ll tell you.” Crowley says bitterly.

“You said you just hung around with the wrong people,” Aziraphale whispers, his voice tremulous.

“And apparently that was enough for Her. She doesn't love me anymore, angel. No one does. They can’t. Unlovable, it’s in the job description just like unforgivable.” Crowley hisses out and he is crying.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says softly, his hands itching to reach out and hold.

“Leave it, angel.” Crowley sighs. “Give me a day and we can meet up for our meeting.” he refuses to look at Aziraphale, his gaze drifting everywhere but Aziraphale’s face.

“Forget about the meeting, Crowley. I was worried. I thought Hell had found out about our… about you doing Good deeds for me.” Aziraphale tells him gravely.

“They didn’t. Although I’m certainly going to be claiming this Inquisition. Probably get another commendation.” Crowley laughs before stretching out on the bed languorously. “So, you missed me?” he asks salaciously.

“I… I did.” Aziraphale admits quietly.

“Join me, angel?” Crowley asks, reaching out a hand to him.

It takes everything in him not to reach out and take the offered hand in his. To let Crowley pull him down into the bed and wrap around him. To kiss him. To let his hands roam across his flesh and feel him. To move against him until they find their release.

“Crowley, we can’t,” He says instead in a choked whisper.

“Just to sleep, angel. I’m tired. These humans wear me out.” Crowley cajoles.

“Crowley, I need to fill out my reports.” Aziraphale protests but he is not leaving. Why is he not leaving? Because he wants.

“Fill them out tomorrow. Sleep with me tonight.” Crowley whispers, his head tilts down and he looks up at Aziraphale from under his lashes, coquettishly. His hand is still reaching out, offering.

Aziraphale looks down at the offered hand. He wants. He looks up at Crowley’s pouting face. He wants.

“Angel, you won’t Fall to sleep with me. Just to sleep with me.” The words flow over him and Aziraphale wants. Can he control himself? Maybe he doesn’t want to. He swallows loudly and gently takes the offered hand and Crowley tightens his grip on Aziraphale's hand before gently guiding him into the bed. And with a snap the demon has locked the door.

Aziraphale gently kneels on the bed before he slips down to lay next to Crowley. He is tense and his hands twist nervously together. He wants to touch. But he shouldn’t. Crowley's hands cover his and his fingers slip between Aziraphale’s own, holding his hand. Aziraphale feels Crowley softly wrap his arms around him. And Aziraphale turns to tuck his head under Crowley’s chin and drops off to sleep.

Aziraphale wakes to the sensation of fingers running over his face and the sound of a rooster crowing outside the room. He stretches his body out lengthening his spine before he opens his eyes to see Crowley’s face hovering over him, studying him intently.

“Crowley,” he whispers, voice rough from sleep.

“Yes, angel?” Crowley asks his own voice just as rough.

“Are you really going to tell them you invented the Inquisition?” Aziraphale asks instead of what he wants to ask. _Please, kiss me. Hold me. I’ll even let you fuck me just don’t leave me alone._

“It will look good on my report.” Crowley answers him quietly no idea the thought lying behind his teeth waiting to betray him.

“But you didn’t, did you?” he asks, terrified of the answer.

“Humans have a wonderful way of corrupting themselves, Aziraphale. I’ve been drunk out of my mind for the last, what month is it?” Crowley asks.

“March.” Aziraphale answers.

“I’ve been a drunken mess for four months, Aziraphale.” Crowley tells him lowly.

“I see,” Aziraphale says gently.

Crowley’s hand finds Aziraphale’s and he brings it up to kiss each fingertip gently. Running his lips over the palm and nuzzling at the wrist.

“Should we have that meeting now?” Crowley whispers.

Aziraphale swallows hard and nods. “I think that would be wise.” He adds sounding strangled.

Crowley hums low in his throat. “You already know what I’ve been claiming. But what have you been up to?”

“I was helping Henry the fifth in France,” Aziraphale answers, not tearing his gaze away from the way Crowley is gently caressing his hand.

“That was you? At Agincourt?” Crowley asks, smiling gently.

“Yes. Partly. I just gave them a little blessing. Crowley,” his voice cracks. He wants to say, _keep going. Please._

Crowley pauses his ministrations to meet Aziraphale's wide eyes. Crowley's eyes widen and he gently lets go of Aziraphale’s hand and sits up in the bed. “That’s probably enough to finish our reports.” Crowley says, turning away from Aziraphale.

Aziraphale calls his name softly but there is no answer and Aziraphale is not brave enough to bridge this gap. He waits silently for a long moment before he stands and moves to the door.

“You’re more than just a demon to me, Crowley. But we can’t. They would destroy you.” And they would. For stealing an angel from Heaven. The Archangels would hunt him down and destroy him. Aziraphale has already lost one love. He can’t take another loss. It would break him irreparably. So yes, he wants to say _take me. I love you. Don’t leave me. Kiss me. Hold me._ But he can’t for Crowley’s safety and his own sake. He leaves the door and makes his way back to England and sends his paperwork up in immaculate condition. 


	5. Unangelic Behaviour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale engages in some unangelic behaviour in Spain and Italy during while being a patron of the arts.

Aziraphale is not following Crowley. He’s not. He’s just… worried about the demon and feels the need to check in on him. The poor thing has a tender heart much like Aziraphale himself. It’s not because Aziraphale misses him and wants to see him, to feel him close by. It’s not. He just… needs to see if he’s still a drunken mess. This Spanish Inquisition is going on far longer than anyone expected. And Crowley is so sweet about the humans. He tracks Crowley to a workshop studio and steels his nerves and enters.

“Angel,” Crowley sighs. “What are you doing here?” his voice is slightly slurred. He may not be drunk but he’s tipsy enough that Aziraphale is still worried.

“I’m here blessing the artists. Mostly,” he adds under his breath and hopes the being in front of him doesn’t hear. “What about you?” he says more loudly but his voice is still timid and he curses himself for his soft heart.

“Being a muse,” Crowley throws his arms out gesturing expansively to the workshop and half finished sketches and paintings. Aziraphale follows his gesture to look around the studio and hears the demon add, “Every good artist has one.”

He looks around and sees many sketches of Crowley. Crowley in the nude. Crowley has been naked with others. Culturally this is inappropriate. He shouldn’t be hurt by that. But he is.

He tears his gaze away from a particularly detailed study, blushing and wishing he could see it for himself. “I see. And how have you been?” he asks genuinely concerned but avoiding looking back at Crowley. His gaze jumps from unfinished nude to unfinished nude.

“Well, I’ve been well.” Crowley admits and he finally is walking toward Aziraphale. And Aziraphale’s chest opens, unclenching.

“Still drinking I see.” Aziraphale says, still not looking at the being in front of him.

“No plans to stop. Join me?” Crowley asks him and Aziraphale wants to say yes. He should say no. He shouldn’t be here at all. Not only is it breaking every unspoken rule off the books but it puts them both in danger. Crowley in danger. He’s put him there. Crowley is now just in front of him, his hands raising to brush just out of touching range.

Aziraphale raises his eyes to look at him finally.” I…” his breath catches in his throat. It’s those damn glasses again. He wants to see his eyes.

There is a clearing of a throat and Aziraphale leaps backward.

“I am sorry my friend. But I was looking for my sketch.” the artist says gesturing to the sketch he couldn’t tear his eyes from, the one in such exquisite detail. Aziraphale takes the moment to examine the man from the corner of his eye. He is not bad looking. He supposes Crowley would enjoy having him in his bed. It’s not like Aziraphale has a claim to him. He’s likely spent much time tempting people into beds. He’s good at it.

“It’s alright, Leonardo. You did not interrupt anything of import.” Crowley says and hands over the sketch.

“Right,” Aziraphale agrees and his voice is too loud and too cheerful, he knows. The artist, Leonardo, hums skeptically and leaves.

“He won’t tell anyone.” Crowley tries to reassure him. And it’s sweet. “He’s been accused of sodomy himself. No one showed up to testify against him several years ago and I’ve been keeping him out of trouble for a couple months now.”

“I see,” Aziraphale says and he thinks he does. Crowley is moving on. He’s tired of waiting and he’s moving on. It shouldn’t hurt so badly. He’s a demon. Why did he have to fall in love with those out of reach?

“Angel,” Crowley admonishes. “I haven’t fucked him.”

Aziraphale cringes at the harsh wording but feels a smile break his face. “No need to be crude, dear boy,” Aziraphale protests and he sees Crowley smile a friendly smile.

“I can be crude with you if you’d let me,” Crowley says seriously and Aziraphale sighs. This is an old argument but one he expects every time they meet. He almost looks forward to it. To the day he will break. He wants to. “But I understand you don’t want to let Her down.” Crowley continues at his silence.

“It’s not… that’s not why I haven’t… Crowley.” Aziraphale makes several false starts before sighing once again. “That’s not why we can’t. If Heaven found out. Or Hell. They would destroy you. I can’t let that happen.” He doesn’t even fear for himself anymore. He’s quite given up his fear for himself. Either She will Fell him or She won’t.

“No one would find out, Angel. We can be careful.” Crowley says softly, gently and averts his gaze to toy with one of the sketches on the table next to them.

“You can’t possibly make that promise, Crowley.” Aziraphale says and he wants to step closer to close the space between their bodies til there is nothing left between them.

“What, then, do you want, Aziraphale? Why did you follow me?” Crowley asks gently, keeping his gaze averted.

“I know the Spanish Inquisition is still going strong. I wanted to be sure you were handling it… better than, well…” he clears his throat. “Better.”

“I’m not insensate with drink if that’s what you are asking. I’m fine. Humans are always doing horrible things to each other. What does that have to do with me? Not like it’s my fault.” And Crowley doesn’t seem sincere in his belief.

“It’s not your fault. You can’t make them do bad things any more than I can make them do good ones. And even you weren't trying to tempt anyone into this. You never have.” Aziraphale reminds him, trying to help.

“Yeah. Never do, me.” Crowley agrees but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“Why don’t I commission something for us from Leonardo? We can sit for a portrait from him.” Crowley suggests and finally, finally turns to him again and smiles charmingly. “One for you and one for me.”

“I,” Aziraphale pauses. What’s the harm? “I don’t see why not.”

“Good. I’ll let him know.” And Crowley leaves the room. Aziraphale takes the time alone to study the sketches before him and run his fingers over the lines of Crowley’s body. If a couple of the sketches go missing, well. There are so many of them.

They do end up sitting for Leonardo and Aziraphale takes the copy that has Crowley on it leaving his own form on Crowley’s copy. They get put away with the stolen sketches and he brings them out on lonely nights and if he takes himself in hand to images stolen from another man, there is no one to tell.

Aziraphale goes back to London soon after that stolen afternoon content to have seen Crowley and know he is doing well. Crowley follows not so very far behind him and they both make their homes in the city. They run in both similar and vastly different circles. Aziraphale prefers the artists while Crowley has a hand in the dark underbelly of the city and of course they both have a hand in the courts.

Eventually, Aziraphale decides it’s time to meet with Crowley once again. He sends a missive to tell him. A playbill for one of Shakespeare’s new plays with a day and a time on it. He is standing in the pit waiting for his… for Crowley. He is enjoying himself quite happily with some grapes when Crowley arrives.

“I thought you said we’d be inconspicuous here. Blend in among the crowds.” Crowley greets.

“Well, that was the idea. Grape?” Aziraphale offers in much the same way that Crowley had first offered.

“Ah, hang on. It’s not one of Shakespeare’s gloomy ones, is it?” Crowley asks with a groan of frustration. “No wonder nobody’s here.”

“Shh. It’s him.” Aziraphale says spotting the playwright moving towards them through the empty pit.

“Prithee, gentles. Might I request a small favour?” Shakespeare asks politely. “Could you, in your role as the Audience, give us more to work with?”

“You mean like, when the ghost of his father came on, and I shouted, ‘He’s behind you!’” Aziraphale exclaims.

“Just so. That was jolly helpful. Meade everyone on stage feel appreciated.” he gestures. “A bit more of that.” Shakespeare asks of them. Aziraphale smiles at him and notices a sarcastic smile on Crowley's face. No fun, his… Crowley. “Good Master Burbage, please, speak the lines trippingly.” Shakespeare adds to the actor on the stage

“I am wasting my time up here.” the actor, Master Burbage hisses irritatedly.

“No,” Aziraphale has to tell him. “You’re very good. I love all the, the talking.” He gestures to encompass the whole stage.

“And what does your friend think?” Master Burbage asks and Aziraphale panics.

“He’s not my friend. We’ve never met before. We don’t know each other.” His eyes dart upward hoping that no one is watching.

Crowley answers anyway. “I think you should get on with the play.”

And so, Master Burbage does. “To be – or not to be – that is the question…”

And They wanted audience participation. “To be! Not to be! Come on Hamlet! Buck up!” He shouts back. Master Burbage gives a thumbs up before he continues with his soliloquy. “He’s very good isn’t he?” He asks Crowley once Master Burbage has resumed his speech.

“Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety.” Crowley responds.

Aziraphale can agree with that. “What do you want?” Aziraphale asks. He had wanted to see him again but he can tell that there is something on his… on Crowley’s mind. He had been distracted the last time they spoke at the court.

“Why ever would you insinuate that I might possibly want something?” Crowley asks instead of answering.

“You are up to no good.” Aziraphale says.

“Obviously. And you are up to good, I take it? Lots of good deeds?” Crowley asks as he circles again. Orbiting. And Aziraphale doesn’t bother to keep him in sight. Crowley has a tendency to pace around him as they talk. A nervous tick he imagines.

“No rest for the, well, good. I have to be in Edinburgh by the end of the week. A couple blessings to do, and a minor miracle to perform. Apparently I have to ride a horse to get there. They’ve cut off my transportation miracles,” he is not whining.

Crowley cringes in sympathy. “Hard on the buttocks, horses. Major design flaw if you ask me. I’m always expected to ride those big black jobs. With flashing eyes. Oddly enough, _I’m_ meant to be heading to Edinburgh too this week. Tempting a clan leader to steal some cattle.” Crowley admits

“Doesn’t seem like hard work.” Aziraphale says already knowing where this is going.

“That was why I thought we should…” Crowley shrugs one shoulder. “Well, bit of a waste of effort both of us going all the way to Scotland.”

“You cannot actually be suggesting what I infer you are implying.” Aziraphale says. He starts strong but already his conviction is waning and he ends on a whisper.

“Which is?” Crowley asks as if he doesn’t already know.

“That just one of us goes to Edinburgh and does both… The blessing and the tempting.” Aziraphale says lowly.

“We’ve done it before. Dozens of times now. The Arrangement,” Crowley reminds him.

He hardly needs reminding. “Don’t say that.” He protests eyes rolling to look up.

“Our respective Head Offices don’t actually care how things get done. They just want to know they can cross it off the list.” Crowley says.

Aziraphale is unsure. He’s been thinking again. “If Hell found out they wouldn’t just be angry. They’d destroy you.” And he can’t lose Crowley. He lost Lucifer and it still aches so many millennia later. He still cries in the middle of the night thinking he should have been faster, thinking he should have followed him down. He should have demanded of Her.

“Nobody ever has to know. Toss you for Edinburgh.” Crowley says producing a coin and waiting.

Aziraphale should say no. He should never have called this meeting in the first place. He should smite Crowley down to Hell. But if he does any of the things he is _supposed_ to do, he will lose his only friend. Heaven has forgotten him down here. Aside from the occasional order or reprimand, he is alone down here. Aside from Crowley.

He gives a stilted nod. “Fine Heads.”

Crowley tosses the coin and catches it on the back of his hand. “Tails. I’m afraid. You’re going to Scotland.”

Aziraphale wants to say more but feels that Crowley is about to leave when they both hear Shakespeare speak. “It would take a miracle for anyone to come and see _Hamlet_.”

Aziraphale perks up and looks to Crowley hope sprouting in his chest. “Yeah. All right. I’ll do that one. My treat.” Crowley says.

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale asks and he knows he is smiling like a loon.

Aziraphale does ride a horse to Scotland. And he does do a blessing on a wedding and a minor miracle in a church and tempts a clan leader who steals the cattle in the dead of night. When he gets back to London, again on a wretched horse, _Hamlet_ is still playing. He goes to see the play and they sit in the stands on opposite sides of the theatre and he is enthralled. He goes again the next night and feels Crowley standing behind him. Crowley's hands find their way around his waist and hips, running over his sides throughout most of the play. He wants. He wants those hands to close around him and to travel lower and to take him in hand. His heartbeat picks up. He wants to be held in the arms that are nearly wrapped around him. When the play is finished, his own hands find the ones on his hips and he squeezes the fingers gently before he turns around in their grasp. He smiles up at Crowley in thanks and in joy. He wants this closeness to last forever. But then something dark comes across Crowley's face, his hands tighten their hold on his waist and then Crowley is letting go and leaving him. He makes wounded noise and hates himself a little for it. But Crowley does not turn back around. He does not seem to hear it and he storms away.

Aziraphale is left aching inside and wanting. He makes his way slowly back to his flat and takes out the drawings of Leonardo's and presses a kiss to the side of Crowley’s messily sketched mouth and taking himself in hand. It isn’t his first love’s name he cries out when he comes. He goes to see _Hamlet_ a third time but Crowley is nowhere to be found. He keeps going back every night but always leaves disappointed.


	6. Heartbreaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has his heart broken several times worse than the one before.

Soon enough _Hamlet_ passes and Shakespeare passes and days and nights spent at the Globe passes but Crowley, Crowley is still there. They speak briefly in the intervening years. About Aziraphale's plans to open a bookshop and then Crowley is gone. To the mainland. And Aziraphale is lonely. So he follows but not. After all, he is indeed getting hungry and a craving for crêpes and brioche. He wasn’t expecting to be accosted for wearing English fashion in France but he does dabble in the English Aristocracy. He is sitting in a jail cell hearing the sound of the guillotine falling and wishing that Heaven weren’t watching him quite so closely. He is going to be killed. Discorporated.

The executioner is brought in and he is speaking French. Aziraphale understands very little French if he’s being honest. It’s been years since he had to know French. The phrases feel foreign on his tongue but he tries anyway. Until the Executioner stops him. He is going to be discorporated and who knows how long it will take him to get back down to Earth. If they let him back on Earth. His record isn’t the greatest. But could he handle being in Heaven again? Alone again? He wants Crowley. And all of a sudden he is there and time has stopped. Literally.

“Animals don’t kill each other with clever machines, angel. Only humans do that.” Crowley says from behind him and a smile breaks on Aziraphale’s face.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale exhales and turns to face his… Crowley. “Oh good Lord,” His smile drops as he eyes Crowley’s outfit. It is horrendous. But he can’t stop his eyes from roving the body lounging against the bars of his cell.

“What the deuce are you doing locked up in the Bastille? I thought you were opening a bookshop.” Crowley asks.

“I was,” Aziraphale said. _I missed you,_ he does not. “I got peckish.” He admits sullenly.

“Peckish?” Crowley asks, stunned.

“If you must know, it was the crêpes. You can’t get decent ones anywhere but Paris. And the brioche..” he adds as an afterthought.

“So you just popped across the Channel during a revolution, because you wanted something to nibble? Dressed like that?” Crowley asks.

“I have standards,” Aziraphale protests. “I had heard they were getting a bit carried away here but…”

“This is not getting ‘carried away’.” Crowley interrupts. “This is cutting off lots of people’s heads very efficiently with a big head cutting machine. Why didn’t you just perform another miracle and go home?” And it’s a good question.

 _I hadn’t seen you yet._ Aziraphale thinks but instead says “I was reprimanded last month. They said I’d performed too many frivolous miracles. I got a strongly worded note from Gabriel.” Aziraphale says and it’s the truth if not the complete one.

“You’re lucky I was in the area.” Crowley croons standing up and coming over to circle him. Aziraphale’s heartbeat picks up.

“I suppose I am,” he says timidly. “Why are you here?”

“My lot sent me a commendation for outstanding job performance. So I thought I should find out what they were commending me for.” Crowley admits from behind him.

“You mean all this is your demonic work? I should have known!” Aziraphale says and thinks _Tell me I’m wrong._

And Crowley does. “Nah. Humans thought it up themselves. Nothing to do with me.” Aziraphale breathes a sigh of relief but tenses again when he feels Crowley’s hands come up to land on his shoulders and run down his arms. Crowley steps up flush behind him and buries his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. “Like this, they couldn’t possibly say you agreed. Chained up as you are. Let me?” Crowley whispers hotly into his ear.

Aziraphale swallows heavily and tilts his head to allow Crowley access to his neck. And Crowley’s lips graze the side of his neck. “I… Crowley,” Aziraphale pants.

And suddenly Aziraphale is pushed up against the wall. His chained hands trapped between him and the wall. He gives a startled gasp but doesn’t protest. He feels Crowley’s hands roving his sides and under his coat coming to rest on his soft stomach, toying with the buttons of his waistcoat. Aziraphale’s heart is beating hard and he is breathing heavily.

“Angel,” Crowley’s forked tongue flicks against his ear as he breathes into it. “What do you want? Tell me.”

“Crowley, please.” _Yes. More. Please touch me._ Gets trapped behind his teeth. He feels like crying. He wants this. Please.

Crowley gives a growl of frustration and pushes himself away from Aziraphale.

With a snap the manacles are on the ground and Aziraphale is still and silent _No. Please come back._ He wants to sob. Aziraphale feels Crowley step forward and gently take his hands and turn him around. Aziraphale’s eyes are wide and the iris nearly black. He swallows and blinks. His eyes rove over Crowley and down to their enjoined hands where Crowley is gently massaging at his chafed wrists.

“I won’t until you can ask me for what you want.” Crowley says lowly. “Do you understand?” He asks gently.

Aziraphale just nods silently _What if that never happens?_ “I suppose I should say thank you. For the rescue.”

“Don’t say that,” Crowley says softly. “If my people hear I rescued an angel, I will be the one in trouble and my lot do not send rude notes. They send Hastur. Or Ligur. If you’re lucky.” Crowley’s hands are still rubbing gently at his wrists.

“Well, anyway, I’m very grateful.” He says voice whisper soft. “What about if I buy you lunch?” he finally looks up trying to meet Crowley’s eyes through the dark glasses he insists on wearing. _Please. Don’t leave me yet._

“Looking like that?” Crowley murmurs lifting Aziraphale’s reddened wrists to his lips.

Aziraphale gives a quiet sigh. There go his standards. He pulls free one of his hands and with a gesture down his body has exchanged his clothes with that of his would be executioner. “Barely counts as a miracle really.” He murmurs as Crowley steps away and the room comes back to life.

Two guards come to escort the would be executioner to his death and Crowley comments amusedly. “Dressed like that he’s asking for trouble. So, what’s for lunch?”

“What would you say to some crêpes?” Aziraphale asks with a smile. A meal with his… with Crowley is just what he needs. And Crowley nods and his smile gets brighter. Aziraphale leads the way to a cafe not far from the jail and they get crêpes and wine and Aziraphale is happy. He is dressed horribly but he is happy. He is not alone. He is with Crowley.

Aziraphale and Crowley talk while waiting for their meal and when it comes, Aziraphale gets quiet, as quiet as he gets while eating. They exchange pleasantries and Aziraphale regales him about his search for a place to build his bookshop. Crowley listens intently and Aziraphale appreciates his intense concentration.

It is after lunch that the dilemma comes in. He doesn’t want to head back to London, alone. But he can’t be needy with Crowley's time. It would be selfish. The demon has work to do and so does Aziraphale. Crowley will be back, eventually.

Instead of what he wants to say. _Come home with me. H_ e says,” I suppose I should be getting back to London. Will you be away long?”

“I can leave now if you’re ready. I just came to see what the fuss was about.” Crowley tells him and Aziraphale fights a blinding smile.

“Oh, oh really? Then let’s head back. I want to get into my own clothes again.” And his body gives a wiggle of excitement as his wings try to ruffle the ether.

Crowley pauses a moment to snap his fingers and suddenly is holding a bundle of clothes. He hands them over to Aziraphale who takes them reverently.

“Oh. Thank you, dear boy. Would… would you mind doing the honours? Only, they watch my transportation miracles even more closely than the frivolous ones.” he admits softly.

“Of course, angel.” And with a snap of Crowley's fingers they are standing outside Crowley's London flat. The London traffic hurries passed undisturbed by their sudden appearance.

“Thank you, Crowley.” Aziraphale sighs. He looks quickly away and then back “I wish I could… say… But it could destroy you. I couldn’t live with myself if they did that. Stealing an angel from Heaven. They would go after you.”

“I can handle myself, angel. No need to do me any favours.” Crowley protests quietly. And Aziraphale knows he can handle himself around humans but it’s so dangerous bringing Heaven’s wrath into it.

“I still can’t risk it, Crowley.” He says so soft it’s almost a thought.

He goes back to his flat in London and once the door is closed he leans back against it and lets his head fall back to hit the wood behind him. He almost broke today. He almost said yes. And he thinks about what would have happened if he said yes. He imagines the chains still around his wrists being pressed up against the wall. And Crowley. He would vanish Aziraphale’s clothes leaving him nude. His… member hot and erect would stand up from between his legs. And Aziraphale would hiss at the feel of the cold air of the cell against his fevered skin. Crowley would circle behind him as best he could with his body pressed against the stone wall. The rough stone cutting into his palms. And Crowley would step up behind him. Aziraphale would feel his naked flesh against his own. Crowley's hands running down his sides. And around his waist to take him in hand.

Aziraphale pants and tears himself out of his borrowed clothes and his hand wraps around his own erection. The flesh hot and heavy in his hand. He imagines Crowley's long and elegant fingers wrapped around him instead of his own fat hands. Crowley, Crowley would. He would Aziraphale finds he cannot imagine what Crowley would do. So many choices and all of them ones he wants. Crowley would bring his hand up to Aziraphale’s mouth and Aziraphale would open his mouth taking the fingers of Crowley's spare hand into his mouth and sucking gently tasting heat and brimstone and Crowley. Crowley’s hand would find its way to Aziraphale’s entrance and slowly breach him. Aziraphale moans at the thought and his hand speeds up. Crowley would, he would prepare him slowly taking his time. He wants this to be good for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale would pant. The hand around his member and the hand breaching his channel. He would be trapped between sensations. And his hands still chained. Helpless. Once Crowley thinks he’s ready he would remove his hand from Aziraphale’s channel and… he would push in slowly. His hand would find its way around Aziraphale's neck to hold him steady and quiet. Crowley would… he would go slow, for Aziraphale. But Aziraphale wouldn’t want it slow ; he'd press back into Crowley's thrusts until Crowley got the message. Then he would pick up, a bruising pace his hand around Aziraphale’s member picking up in time. The hand around his neck gripping hard and he would come thrusting deep into Aziraphale and Aziraphale would feel his spend dripping out of his entrance and with Crowley's help he would find his finish against the wall.

Aziraphale imagines having gone to the cafe with Crowley’s seed staining the inside of his trousers and he finishes with a quiet cry. And he collapses to the floor and he cries.

It’s less than a decade later that Aziraphale is preparing to open his bookshop. It’s a beautiful building with two floors and he is having the outside of the storefront painted a brilliant red. He is inside his shop getting things ready and anticipating a visit from his dear friend Crowley who said he would stop by before he opened. When he feels the presence of two celestial beings. Holy beings.

The bell over the shop door dings as the door opens and Aziraphale calls out. “I am afraid the shop will not be open until Friday, good people. But there will be a grand opening immediately after lunch…”

“We aren’t here to buy books, Aziraphale.” Gabriel's voice rings out. Aziraphale turns to see Gabriel and Sandalphon both standing dressed exceedingly richly.

“Oh. Oh, dear. Listen if it’s about that business in Paris, um, it wasn’t my miracle…” Aziraphale says nervously, hands wringing together. Gabriel was never a good sign. His former brother had a temper on him. Notorious for it really.

“I have no idea whereof you speak, oh Angel of the Eastern Gate. We are here with good news.” Gabriel tells him grandly like making one of his Proclamations.

“Oh! How lovely.” He says and isn’t sure if he means it but he stands straighter and smiles waiting for the good news.

“We are bringing you home.” Gabriel tells him.

“Promoting you back upstairs,” Sandalphon adds.

Aziraphale blinks, face frozen before it morphs into one of confusion. They are waiting for his unbridled joy. He knows it. But he can’t give that to them. They are taking him away from his home.

“I’m opening this bookshop on Friday. If Master Hatchard can make a go of it then I think I can really…” They don’t care.

“It’s an excellent idea. Whoever replaces you down here can use it as a base of operations.” Gabriel says, he is still smiling expectantly.

“Use my bookshop?” Aziraphale asks numbly.

“You’re being promoted. You get to come home.” Gabriel says again. His smile seeming forced now that Aziraphale is not celebrating.

“I can’t imagine why anyone would want to spend five minutes longer in this world than they had to.” Sandalphon says distastefully. _You wouldn’t._ Aziraphale thinks nastily.

“Aziraphale has been here for almost 6000 years. We must applaud such devotion to duty.” Gabriel says and produces a box. With a medal in it. “And it hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

“I don't want a medal.” Aziraphale says, still numb.

“That’s very noble of you,” Gabriel says.

Aziraphale looks out of the window and sees the worst possible thing he could see. Crowley with flowers and a box of something looking in through the window. He panics when he meets Crowley's eyes and Crowley smiles.

“But only I can properly thwart the wiles of the demon Crowley.” Crowley is raising his box and mouths ‘chocolates’ at him and Aziraphale's smile is frozen on his face.

“I do not doubt that whoever replaces you will be as good an enemy to Crowley as you are. Michael perhaps,” Gabriel offers.

“Michael? Michael’s a wanker!’ Crowley mouths at him and Aziraphale has to agree. But his gaze darts from one group of celestial beings to the other as he tries to salvage the situation and prevent Gabriel and Sandalphon from noticing Crowley outside the shop.

“Crowley’s been down here just as long as I have.” he says. “And he’s wily, and cunning and brilliant and oh…”

“It almost sounds like you like him,” Gabriel accuses incredulously.

“I loathe him.” Aziraphale says immediately. “And, despite myself I respect a worthy opponent which he isn’t because he’s a demon and I cannot respect a demon… o-or like one.” Aziraphale protests swiftly. Crowley is now gone from the street.

“That’s the attitude I like to hear. You will be an asset back at head office, I can tell you that.” Gabriel says encouragingly putting the medal around Aziraphale’s neck

“So, we’re going back now? Before the grand opening?” Aziraphale asks nervously. He doesn’t know how to stop this. He doesn’t want to go.

“Well, soon. We’re just going to stroll down to Cork Street to see my tailor.” Gabriel says and he and Sandalphon take their leave. Aziraphale waits for Crowley to show up so he can… say… goodbye. And perhaps. Take that kiss he’s always wanted.

Instead Gabriel, in his new suit, and Sandalphon make it back but they seem to have changed their minds.

“So I’m… not going anywhere?” Aziraphale asks, confused.

“Change of plans. We need you here. In your bookshop. Battling evil.” Gabriel says his tone clipped.

Sandalphon gives him a good-natured punch on the arm, either that or he has learned to hate him, because it hurts. “Carry on battling.” He says.

“Keep the medal,” Gabriel says before he and Sandalphon are gone in a flash of light.

“I don’t understand,” Aziraphale says to the empty shop. But he isn’t going back to Heaven he gets to stay. Here. In London. With Crowley. He feels a smile break his face in two and continues to unpack the books for his shelves.

The next time the door rings, he knows it’s Crowley.

“Angel,” Crowley greets.

And Aziraphale breathes in his name, “Crowley,” and turns around his smile still on his face.

“What is that?” Crowley asks, pointing to his medal. He had quite forgotten to take it off.

“Oh, this?” Aziraphale says taking it from around his neck. “It’s a medal. For 6000 years of devotion. I think they lost count somewhere it’s only been 5,800 years but I suppose it’s close enough.” He explains. “I did tell them I didn’t want it.”

“I see. And are you still being replaced?” Crowley asks, his gaze still locked on the medal in Aziraphale’s hands before he tears his gaze up and away.

“No. They changed their minds. Gabriel wouldn’t say why. Not that I’m upset by it. They wanted someone else to run my bookshop. Can you imagine?” Aziraphale asks affronted. The very idea is appalling.

“Well, they changed their minds for a while at least. Here.” Crowley says handing over the box and flowers.

“Oh?” Aziraphale says shocked. “Oh. Crowley.” He swallows thickly at the message of the bouquet. Camellia’s, red for you are a flame in my heart; pink for longing; white chrysanthemum for truth; and a daffodil for...unrequited love, or you are the only one. Aziraphale stares gobsmacked at the bouquet for what feels like hours. Slowly he lifts his head and there are tears in his eyes. A declaration of love. A beautiful one too. Said without words. Aziraphale can feel his hands shaking and he moves quickly before he can drop his gifts. A snap has the flowers in a crystal vase full of water and he sets them on the table at their side. He never removes his gaze from Crowley’s

“Crowley,” _Me too. Yes. Please._ All goes unsaid.

“Angel,” Crowley replies.

Aziraphale wants to reach for him. He wants to kiss him. He wants.

“It’s okay to want this Aziraphale. You haven't Fallen for any of a million other things. Why is this the one that you fear?” Crowley asks. He’s standing there. Waiting for Aziraphale to make the first move.

“I can’t lose you, Crowley. What if this ruins everything? What if they destroy you for this? Heaven could kill you so easily with just a splash of Holy Water.” Aziraphale is leaning in toward Crowley. _Please. Hold me._ He can’t say it.

“You won’t. You have me, Angel. You won’t lose me unless you keep playing this game of will-you-won’t-you. “Crowley tells him and Aziraphale feels tears run down his cheeks. He can’t lose Crowley. But is he already gone _? Not again. Please not again. I can’t lose another._ “Angel,” Crowley says and Aziraphale breaks. He shakes his head ashamed of his tears and sobs. “I can’t keep playing this. I’m sorry.” And Crowley is turning around and leaving him.

Crowley pauses once at the door but doesn’t turn around to see Aziraphale with his hand outstretched. Aziraphale collapses to the floor. Wishing for once that it would open up and swallow him down to Hell. Maybe then he could have what he so wants. He spends long hours on the floor of his empty, soon-to-be bookshop weeping for everything he wants that She has taken from him. Or that he has taken from himself. And when the sun is setting he picks himself up, miracles the flowers forever fresh and sets them in the back. And then, he gets back to work.

He doesn’t feel Crowley in London after that day not for long years and it hurts. He cries himself into stupors many nights. Just as he had cried over Lucifer so long ago and the resemblance just brings more tears to his eyes. Until he gets word from Crowley to meet him at the usual place in St. James’ park near the duck pond.

He is ecstatic. Crowley wants to meet with him again. Aziraphale shows up right on time. And Crowley is already waiting there for him.

“Look, I’ve been thinking. What if it all goes wrong? We’ve got a lot in common, you and me.” Crowley says immediately without greeting.

Aziraphale takes off his hat to feed the ducks from the bread that was in it. “We may have both started off as angels but _you_ are Fallen.” Aziraphale says and he doesn't know why. Except that being left by Crowley had hurt and so he wants to repay that hurt with a dig of his own.

“I didn’t really Fall. I just, you know, sauntered vaguely downwards.” Crowley trails off. “I need a favour.” he says suddenly.

“We already have the Agreement, Crowley. We stay out of each other’s way. Lend a hand when needed.”

“This is something else. For if it all goes pear-shaped.” Crowley insists.

“I like pears.” Aziraphale remarks. He was hoping once their business was finished they could go for lunch.

“If it all goes wrong. I want insurance.” Crowley says

“What?” Aziraphale asks, putting his hat back on.

“I wrote it down.” He says handing over a slip of paper and continues but Aziraphale is not listening. He is afraid. His world narrowed to two small words four and five letters. Holy Water.

“Out of the question.” Aziraphale says stunned.

“Why not?” Crowley asks.

“It would destroy you. I’m not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley.” He insists, trying to hand back the slip of paper.

“That’s not what I want it for.” Just… Insurance.” And Crowley is giving him the paper once again.

“I’m not an idiot, Crowley. Do you know what trouble I’d be in if they knew I’d been fraternizing? It’s completely out of the question.” Aziraphale tells the demon by his side.

“Fraternizing?” Crowley hisses and Aziraphale remembers his other form is a giant snake very distinctly.

“Whatever you wish to call it. I do not think there is any point in discussing it further.” He insists.

“I have lots of other people to fraternize with, angel” Crowley insists.

“Of course you do,” Aziraphale says hurt and angry. This was supposed to be them making up, not breaking up again.

“I don’t need you.” Crowley says hurtfully.

“The feeling is mutual. Obviously.” And it’s the biggest lie he’s ever told. Including telling the almighty he didn’t have his sword. Aziraphale throws the paper into the water and storms away. He does not see or feel Crowley for another eighty years.


	7. Reconciliations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their fights, Crowley reaches out and Aziraphale answers in kind.

It is 1941 and Aziraphale is being recruited by British Intelligence to capture a Nazi spy ring. He doesn’t get to help as a Heavenly agent but a mortal one would be just as useful. Maybe more so. So when Agent Rose Montgomery asks him to go along with handing over his precious books of prophecy, he agrees. And when he learns he was double crossed, he is appalled. He is not an idiot but he had wanted so badly to be of use.

And then there is a demonic presence rushing toward him. A very familiar demonic presence is walking into a church. And he’s there. “Sorry. Ow. Consecrated ground! It’s like...being at the beach in your bare feet.”

“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale demands. His… Crowley is here. Why?

“Stopping you from getting into trouble. Ow!” Crowley responds hopping from one foot to the other.

“I should have known. Of course. These people are working for you.” Aziraphale accuses. _Tell me I’m wrong. Again_.

“No! They’re a bunch of half-witted Nazi spies running around London black-mailing and murdering people. I just didn’t want to see you embarrassed.” Crowley assures him.

“The mysterious Anthony J. Crowley. Your fame precedes you.” Crowley tips his hat at them.

“Anthony?” Aziraphale asks. His… Crowley has come for him. Again.

“You don’t like it?” Crowley asks nervously.

“I didn’t say that. I’ll get used to it.” Aziraphale assures him. He got used to Crowley after all.

“The famous Mr. Crowley? Such a pity you must both die.” Rose – Greta says.

“What does the J stand for?” Aziraphale asks, wanting to be sure to commit the whole name to memory.

“Just a J really. Look at that a whole font-full of Holy Water.” Crowley says and Aziraphale feels his heart clench. “It doesn’t even have guards.”

“Enough blabbering. Kill them both.” Mr. Glozier says.

“In about a minute a German bomber will release a bomb that will land right here.” Crowley gestures down. “If you all run away very _very_ fast, you might not die. You won’t enjoy dying, and you definitely won’t enjoy what comes after.”

“You expect us to believe that? The bombs tonight will fall on the East End.” Glozier says.

“Indeed. It would take a last minute demonic intervention to throw them off course, yes. You are wasting all your valuable running away time. But if, in thirty seconds, a bomb does land here, it would take a real miracle for my friend and I to survive it.” Crowley says meeting Aziraphale’s eyes over his glasses and it’s been so long since he’s seen those eyes. He almost misses what he says.

“A real miracle?” Aziraphale asks to clarify.

“Yes,” Crowley nods meaningfully.

“Kill them! They are very irritating.” Harmony says and then they all look up at the sound of air wooshing past something big. And then…

The church is nothing but a wreck when the smoke clears.

“That was very kind of you.” Aziraphale says gently.

“Shut up.” Crowley answers with a smile.

“Well it was. No paperwork for a start.” Aziraphale starts to smile when it suddenly drops. The books. “The books! I forgot all the books! They’ll have been blown to…” He stops as Crowley hands him a very familiar looking case in pristine condition.

“Little demonic miracle of my own. Lift home?” Crowley asks. Aziraphale is stunned. Crowley saved his books. Crowley. Saved. His. Books. He does still care about him. He thought so when he came to save him from being discorporated but that could also have been to save himself the trouble of getting a replacement angel that would not have an arrangement with him. But the books. Those were purely for Aziraphale’s benefit.

Aziraphale follows him to his car, a big black sleek looking thing that he drives much too fast in the darkened streets of London. Crowley has the door open for him and he climbs in. He sits in silence while his… Crowley drives and hisses as his feet touch the floor and pedals. When they stop, Crowley again gets his door for him and Aziraphale steps out.

“Crowley,” he says and then turns to face him. “Come in? Please?” He asks afraid of another rejection but Crowley nods and Aziraphale leads the way into the shop. The room is dark and Aziraphale leads Crowley into the back room and lights the room with a snap and many candles light. He does not turn on the electric as it is still lights out.

“Sit? I’ll see to your feet.” Aziraphale tells him gesturing to the settee and putting the books down on a table without candles.

“It’s alright, Angel” Crowley says.

“No, it’s not.” Aziraphale insists and Crowley complies without another word.

Aziraphale leaves the room to gather his copper basin and some towels. He goes back out and kneels down at Crowley's feet and gently takes off Crowley's shoes and socks and places each bare foot into the cool unblessed water. He sits there with his head down watching the water grow tepid. _I’m sorry. Please. Don’t leave me like that again. I’ll be good._ He says none of the thoughts in his head. Once the water grows warm he takes first one foot and then the other and towels them dry and places soft kisses to the arches and the ankles. And then he lays his head gently on Crowley's lap and he cries.

He feels Crowley’s hands tangle in his hair. “It’s alright, Aziraphale.” Crowley says gently and Aziraphale starts to sob. _Please don’t leave me again. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so afraid. I’m sorry I’m a bad angel. I’m sorry._ He sobs until he can’t any longer and all through it Crowley keeps his hands tangled in Aziraphale’s hair and gently massages his scalp.

Eventually Aziraphale stops crying and lifts his head from Crowley’s lap. “Oh, my dear boy, I’m afraid I’ve gone and wept all over you again.”

“It’s alright. Only stings a little.” Crowley says and Aziraphale is appalled. Angel tears are Holy. And he’s been crying on him, a demon. “It’s alright. I promise. You didn’t kill me.” Crowley croons, his hands coming up to tangle in Aziraphale’s hair once again and massages his scalp until Aziraphale is a puddle of relaxed angel. Once Aziraphale is relaxed, Crowley slowly removes his hands and goes to stand.

Aziraphale stays where he is, looking up at Crowley with all the love and adoration he can muster shining through his eyes at him. Crowley gently cups Aziraphale's cheek and brushes away his tears and slowly turns to leave. Aziraphale doesn’t move even as Crowley turns away and reaches the door and turns back around. He watches him go silently on his knees and when Crowley is gone, he slowly levers himself onto the settee where Crowley had been and lays back and takes himself in hand once more and brings himself to completion to the thought of Crowley’s hands in his hair.

Crowley does not leave again. He stays in London where Aziraphale can feel him. They spend most days in the bookshop through the rest of the war. They do not speak of the night in the church but instead of the humans surrounding them and the war effort and soon the war is over but still Crowley spends his time with Aziraphale and Aziraphale is happy. Truly happy. Until he hears word of a caper being set up to rob a church led by a man in black who wears sunglasses even at night. Crowley. Holy Water.

He has to stop him. By, it seems, giving him what he asked for. Crowley is desperate. For what reason, Aziraphale doesn’t know. But if he is willing to risk complete and utter annihilation for a container of Holy Water, he must be desperate. This isn’t just a game to him. And so Aziraphale takes his tartan thermos, the one he had miracled up with his pattern and he fills it with water and a blessing later it is Holy. He knows Crowley’s meeting is being held across the street from his shop because he sees the Bentley parked out front but no Crowley in his shop. It may not be the first time that Crowley has parked and gone for a drink in the bar across the street in the last few years but usually he has stopped by and said hello first. He was in a hurry tonight and did not. So when he sees him leaving the bar, he miracles himself into the passenger seat of the Bentley.

“What are you doing here?” Crowley greets him sounding suspicious.

“Needed a word with you.” Aziraphale answers testily.

“What?” Crowley asks

“I work in Soho, I hear things.” Aziraphale says and he can’t bring himself to look at Crowley while he speaks. “I hear you are setting up a… caper, to rob a church. Crowley,” He has to look at his… at Crowley. “It’s too dangerous. Holy Water won’t just kill your body. It would destroy you completely.” He is begging. He is begging a demon to care about himself as much as Aziraphale cares about him.

“You’ve already told me what you think. A hundred and five years ago.” Crowley answers.

“And I haven’t changed my mind. But I won’t have you risking your life. Not even for something dangerous. So,” He picks up his thermos and hands it over. “You can call off the robbery. Don’t go unscrewing the top.” He has to ask one last time. _Be careful. For me._

“It’s the real thing?” Crowley asks.

“The holiest,” Aziraphale assures him.

“After everything you said?” Crowley asks and Aziraphale nods. “Should I say thank you?” Crowley asks.

“Better not.” Aziraphale says not looking at him again.

“Can I drop you anywhere?” He asks.

“No, thank you.” It hurts to say no. He wants to say yes. To so many things with Crowley but he has to say no. He can’t bear to be close right now. “Oh, don’t look so disappointed. Perhaps someday we could… I don’t know… have a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.” Aziraphale offers. He wants to say, _yes. Let’s do that now_. But he can’t. Heaven is watching. They are always watching but sometimes, his loneliness gets the better of him. His love. And he thinks, _I make a very bad angel_.

“I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.” And he leaves. Out the door to stand on the side of the street and watches as Crowley pulls away. He goes home and thinks, _I’ve just killed my friend._ But he doesn’t feel Crowley’s life snuff out and Crowley spends time with him. They drink in the back room of the bookshop and they dine out together and then one day. He calls.

“I can’t make it tonight.” Crowley says over the phone.

“Alright, my dear. I will see you… later then?” Aziraphale asks and he hates the neediness in his voice but he doesn’t. Aziraphale reaches out. He reaches out calling and calling and calling sometimes days later sometimes as long as a week. But nine months he calls and Crowley refuses to meet with him. He makes excuses, Hell has him running busy but… He doesn’t ask for help either. That is part of their Arrangement. Lend a hand, when needed. And Crowley sounds like he needs it. Aziraphale almost offers in the spirit of upholding their Arrangement but something stops him. Again.

He finally gets a call instead of making one. And it is Crowley asking him out for sushi at the little restaurant that Aziraphale likes. He agrees a bit too hastily but he doesn’t care. Crowley is reaching out.

But then, Crowley doesn’t show up. Gabriel does and makes some implications about things being afoot. It’s 6000 years after the Beginning and Aziraphale doesn’t like what that implies. Crowley does call him after Aziraphale has had his sushi and returned home.

He knows when the phone rings that it is Crowley but he answers testily any ways. He has been stood up. “I’m afraid we are most definitely closed.”

“Aziraphale. It’s me. We have to talk.” Crowley says.

“Yes. Yes I rather think we do.” He answers coldly. Crowley didn’t even try to call him. But then again… maybe he had. He had heard that the phone lines were down today. And Crowley does so love using his car phone. Or his mobile.

“Really? Okay. Usual place.”

“I, um, I assume this is about…” and Aziraphale is unsure what this is about.

“Armageddon. Yes.” And Crowley hangs up.

Armageddon. Oh no.


	8. A New Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale discuss the Antichrist, come to a new agreement and raise the wrong boy.

Aziraphale is nervous. He hasn’t seen Crowley in nine months. And then he stood him up. And calls about Armageddon. But he pushes away his nervousness. He needs to be a good angel. He arrives to meet Crowley and resolves to be cold and distant. Be a good angel.

“Angel,” Crowley greets as he takes a seat on their bench and begins to feed the ducks.

“Crowley,” he greets and it’s working; he's being distant. “You said this was about…”

“Armageddon. Yes.”

“So, tell me what happened,” He says and Crowley begins to talk.

“The Antichrist has been born. And placed with a politician's family.”

He doesn’t know what to say. So he settles for asking, “You’re sure it was the Antichrist?”

“I should know. I delivered the baby. Well not deliver-delivered. You know. Handed it over.” And as Aziraphale feeds one of the Drake it drops dead.

“Really, my dear, was that necessary?” Aziraphale admonishes.

“Sorry,” Crowley says and the duck picks itself up and walks away.

“We knew something was going on, of course. I’ve made enquiries. An American diplomat. Really? As if Armageddon were a cinematographic show you wish to sell in as many countries as possible.” Aziraphale runs out of bread and sits up next to his… next to Crowley.

“Earth and all the kingdoms thereof.” Crowley says.

Finally, Aziraphale pulls himself together enough to look at Crowley without asking him to kiss him. “We will win, you know.”

“You really believe that?” Crowley asks, amused.

“Obviously. Heaven will finally triumph over Hell. It’s all going to be rather lovely.” He turns to face forward again. _Lucifer. Crowley._ His chest clenches. Be a good angel.

“Out of interest, how many first class composers do your lot have in Heaven? Cause Mozart is one of ours. So is Beethoven. Schubert. All the Bach’s.” Crowley asks him. Aziraphale feels a bit of loss.

“They have already written their music….”

“And you’ll never hear it again. No more Albert Hall. No more Glyndebourne. Just celestial harmonies.” Crowley tells him. As if it was ever about just the music.

“Well…”

“And that’s just the start of what you’ll lose if you win. No more fascinating little restaurants where they know you. No gravlax and dill sauce. No more Regency era silver snuff boxes. No more old bookshops.” Aziraphale feels that frisson of loss again and Crowley is standing and walking away. Aziraphale follows him.

“But after we win, life will be better for everybody.” He doesn’t even believe it. But be a good angel. Spout the proper propaganda and be a good angel.

“You’ll be as happy with a harp as I’ll be with a pitchfork.” Crowley says seriously.

“We don’t play harps.” Aziraphale protests. Crowley knows that.

“And we don’t use pitchforks. You know what I mean.” Crowley responds irritably.

“But it’s part of the Divine Plan. The Four Horsemen will ride out.” Aziraphale says. The Great Plan. It has to be for something. He needs it to all be _for something_.

“Where do they ride from? Crowley asks.

“What?” Aziraphale asks. He was distracted.

“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Their arrival signals the End of Days. War, Pestilence, Famine, and Death. Where do they ride from? Do they have a stable somewhere?” Crowley muses.

“You ought to know. They work for your lot, don’t they?” Aziraphale asks. He has always thought of them as being Evil.

“Not as far as I know. Independent contractors, I expect. Specialists. In business for themselves.” Crowley says

“I heard Pestilence retired.” Aziraphale says changing the subject slightly. The Celestial Observer said so.

“Really?” Crowley asks.

“It’s Pollution now. Anyway I think it’s all a bit of a red herring.” He is being distracted. “The Four Horsemen ride out and the seas turn to blood…”

“Sea is where your sushi comes from. Your herrings too.” Crowley interrupts and Aziraphale is irritated. He had been talking. And the sushi. Gone. “We only have eleven years then it’s all over. We have to work together.”

“No. Out of the question.” Aziraphale interrupts and feels slightly better.

“It’s the end of the world we are talking about not some little temptation I’ve asked you to cover for me while you are up in Edinburgh for the festival. You can’t say no.” Crowley continues.

“No,” Aziraphale takes pleasure in saying.

“I have an idea.” Aziraphale is about to give in. He has to get out of here.

“No. I. Am. Not. Interested.” He emphasizes and turns to walk away.

“Fine,” Crowley says. “Let’s have lunch then. I still owe you one from…”

“Paris, 1793.” That’s the last time Aziraphale had treated him. All the other times in the intervening years they split the bill.

“Ah yes. The Reign of Terror. Was that one of ours or one of yours?” Crowley asks.

“You now. I don’t recall.” Aziraphale says. But he remembers the cell. He blushes and meets Crowley's eyes. And what they had done in the cell. What he had wanted them to do in the cell. And his blush deepens. How he had pleasured himself when he got home.

Crowley eyes him lasciviously and opens the door for him and Aziraphale gets in with his gaze averted. He tries to calm down as Crowley goes around to the other side of the car and gets in. Soon, the Bentley is running and the wheel clamp is gone as Crowley pulls away and Aziraphale makes the warden's ticket book explode. No one tickets the Bentley.

“Where to for lunch?” Crowley asks.

“How about the Ritz? I believe a table for two has just opened up.” Aziraphale offers timidly.

“You got it, Angel.” Crowley says and turns toward the Ritz. They make it in record time with Crowley’s erratic driving.

They are soon seated and Aziraphale is perusing the menu and Crowley is silent. Their food comes and Aziraphale savours his food. Crowley finishes quickly but he never rushes Aziraphale. Aziraphale takes his time, letting out little moans of appreciation, as hard as he had tried to quell the sounds he still is a noisy appreciator of food.

They don’t speak. Sometimes Aziraphale can’t help but comment on the splendid tastes of what he is eating but for the most part it is a silent meal.

“That was scrumptious.” Aziraphale says as he finishes and dabs at his mouth with his napkin. “So, what are you in the mood for now?” He asks, eyes roving up and down Crowley’s body.

“Alcohol.” Crowley responds, tapping his spoon against the rim of his espresso. “Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol.”

“I suppose so, but let’s do it back at the shop.” Aziraphale says as he flags down a waiter. Crowley pays as he agreed and they make their way to the waiting Bentley.

“Oh let’s walk,” Aziraphale suggests. He wants to spend more time with Crowley. If they drive it will be over too soon. Crowley pauses a moment and Aziraphale is worried he will say no and prepares himself for the ride but Crowley nods his head. So they walk.

Aziraphale talks as they walk. About his neighbours. About the human’s news. About that little shop in Belgium they had visited once. And as they round the corner to the bookshop he talks about the wine he has in the back. “I have several very nice bottles of Châteauneuf-du-Pape in the back. I picked up a dozen or so cases of them in 1921 and I still have some left, for a special occasion.” He smiles as he talks.

“Lovely.” Crowley says. Then, “Not very big on wine in Heaven, are they, though? Not going to get any more nice little Châteauneuf-du-Papes in Heaven. Or single malt scotch. Or little frou-frou drinks with little umbrellas.”

Aziraphale sighs. This again. But he is fortified after his meal. “I told you Crowley. I am not helping you. I’m not interested. This is purely social. I am an angel. You are a demon. We're hereditary enemies. Get thee behind me foul fiend.” He turns to unlock the bookshop. “After you,” he says, gesturing Crowley into the store before him.

“Now,” Aziraphale says. “Where were we?”

“You were offering me wine,” Crowley reminds him.

“Ah, yes. The Châteauneuf-du-Pape.” Aziraphale says as he makes his way further into the back where he keeps the wine and comes back out with two bottles in his hands. He hands one of the bottles to Crowley as he opens the other with a minor miracle. Crowley opens the one in his hand and tilts the bottle back to drink. And drink. And drink. Aziraphale’s mouth drops open sometime around the second large swallow. When Crowley stops drinking, there is only a quarter of the bottle left and Aziraphale thinks they will need more wine.

“Got a glass?” Crowley asks. Aziraphale startles and nods silently and hands him a glass. Crowley pours the rest of the wine into the glass up to the rim and takes a sip. “To Armageddon.” Crowley toasts.

“Are you quite alright, dear boy?” He asks as Crowley takes another slow sip to savour the wine.

“The End is coming, Angel. Nothing is alright.” Crowley takes another gulp of wine and Aziraphale nods and sits with his own glass.

“I see. I wasn’t aware you had such a strong attachment to the world.” Aziraphale says.

“It’s not the world, Angel. It’s you. Do you really think that things are going to be fine between us? One of us is going to die in this war.” Crowley says harshly.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says numbly. He knew… knows. But he can’t disobey orders. He’s not an Archangel any more. He’s a Principality. He takes orders not gives them.

“Yeah. So,” Crowley begins. “So…” and he takes another drink.

They sit in utter silence as they each finish their respective bottles and Aziraphale miracles up another dozen bottles. Soon enough they are both completely drunk on wine and the silence has tapered off into low conversation concerning their shared past.

“So, what is your point?” Aziraphale asks when the conversation lulls, straightening up in his chair.

“My point is… we can change it.” Crowley insists.

“Change? My dear boy, I’m an angel. I can’t disa – Not do what I’m told.” Aziraphale says and rubs at his forehead. “I can’t cope with this while I’m drunk. I’m going to sober up.”

“Yeah. Alright. Me too.” Crowley agrees. Aziraphale focuses very hard and suddenly the wine is back in the scattered bottles and all that’s left is a fuzzy feeling in his mouth.

“Look, Crowley, it’s not that I disagree with you but I’m an angel I’m not _allowed_ to disobey. You know what happens when an angel disobeys.” He winces as the words leave his mouth. He does so hate reminding Crowley of their difference but sometimes it’s all he has to fall back on.

“You think I’m allowed? My lot only agrees with disobedience in general terms. Not when it’s against them,” Crowley says seriously.

“Even if I wanted to help I couldn’t. I can’t interfere with the Divine Plan.” Aziraphale says patiently.

“What about diabolical plans?” Crowley asks craftily, his voice slipping into a hiss. “My lot put the baby into play.”

Aziraphale is silent. Crowley has a point. It does look like a diabolical plan. It is his job to thwart him.

“So, what is your plan?” Aziraphale asks hesitantly.

“Listen. The Antichrist has been born. There’s no stopping that. But it’s the upbringing that’s important. The evil influences. That’s all going to be me. I’ve been ordered to infiltrate the household. But the good influences. Well…” Crowley trails off meaningfully. “After all, you are meant to be thwarting the wiles of the Evil One at every turn, aren’t you?”

“Actually, I encourage humans to do the actual…”

“Semantics, Angel.” Crowley interrupts.

Aziraphale pauses and looks to Crowley. Really looks at him. He’s desperate. The last time he was this desperate was for Holy Water. He can’t lose Crowley. Not like Lucifer. Not to Holy Water. Not at all.

“I suppose, Heaven couldn’t object if I was thwarting you.” Aziraphale says slowly.

“Be a real feather in your wing.” Crowley assures him.

Aziraphale pauses again. _If I Fall. Would it be so terrible?_ And he sticks out his hand over the table toward Crowley. Crowley leans forward and takes the offered hand. Crowley’s thumb gently strokes the back of his hand. “We’ll be Godfathers.. Of a sort. If we do it right he won’t be evil. Or good. Just be normal”

“Godfathers.” Aziraphale says amazed and smiles. _Well,_ he thinks, _I’ll be damned._ And then his face falls. Maybe he will. Crowley doesn’t leave immediately but he does leave.

The next day an advertisement goes out for a gardener and a nanny for the Dowling’s estate. He goes immediately in disguise to be the first to get the job for a gardener. And get it he does. Later that day, Crowley comes to discuss their roles. Crowley wants to be a gardener.

“But, Crowley. The Dowling’s are very traditional. They won’t accept a male nanny. And you are so much better at the feminine form than I am. Besides,” Aziraphale tells him smugly. “I’ve already been given the job.”

Crowley glares at him and Aziraphale smiles and pats his hand. Crowley’s hand turns around to grip his. Aziraphale smiles and squeezes his hand gently.

“I suppose that means I’m a nanny.” Crowley says sweetly but Aziraphale can tell he is upset by it. He has never been particularly good with children despite his fondness for them. “I should go apply.”

“You should,” Aziraphale says and reluctantly let’s go of Crowley’s hand.

So they both have jobs with the Dowling’s household and they get to work as soon as they can. Crowley immediately and Aziraphale the next day. It goes well for a long while. Seeing Crowley so often is wonderful. Both in their household persona’s and together as themselves when they meet to discuss the boy.

They meet in museums and on buses and in parks and at shows and concerts. And Aziraphale loves it. Relishes in it. These moments of closeness. They walk close together and their hands brush. Aziraphale wants to grab hold and never let go. It scares him the force of his wanting. Crowley’s hand finds its way on his thigh in the theatres and Aziraphale wants. He wants it to inch higher. To find his hardness and to rub, to stimulate him through his trousers until he is finishing, soiling his clothes and leaving them ruined. He can’t. They are in public and despite their ability to hide their activities from the humans he can’t be sure that She is not watching. He can’t take the chance.

It is not uncommon to find Warlock and Nanny in the gardens. It isn’t even uncommon for the three of them to take afternoon tea together. But today is different.

While he is taking a sip of his tea Warlock asks a dread question. “Brother Francis, why don’t you kiss Nanny like you want to?” And he spills his tea all over the rest of the sandwiches. Both Nanny and Warlock laugh.

“Yes, Brother Francis, why don’t you give Nanny a kiss?” Nanny, Crowley asks and Aziraphale blushes deeply. “Warlock, Why don’t you go play with your ball over there and let Nanny and Brother Francis talk?”

“Alright Nanny. But then I get an answer?” Warlock asks sweetly.

“Then you will get an answer.” Nanny assures and Warlock takes his ball to the side of the garden and starts to play.

“Nanny, Crowley, what in Heaven are you playing at having him ask me that?” Aziraphale hisses once the boy is out of hearing range.

“I didn’t put him up to anything. He asked me last night why you look at me like that.” Nanny says.

“L-like what?” Aziraphale stutters. He had thought he was hiding it.

“Like you want to kiss me. Why do you look at me like that, Angel?” Nanny asks her voice soft and rhythmic.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Aziraphale protests, he can’t bear to meet Crowley’s eyes. He does. He wants to kiss him, her, whatever Crowley is in any form he is. He wants to kiss his way down her chest past her ample bosom past her slim belly and lower he wants to kiss her pearl to lick his way inside her. But he can’t ask for that.

“No one is watching us now.” Crowley whispers. “Just a kiss, Angel. For the boy”

“Crowley, I want to. I really do.” his gaze lowers to Crowley’s unnaturally red lips. “But I wouldn’t be able to stop. I wouldn’t want to stop. And it’s too dangerous. For the both of us.” Heaven is always watching. Just because they haven’t said something before now doesn’t mean they don’t have them on record. He raises his gaze to Crowley's eyes, and curses those stupid glasses. His smile is tinged with sadness. He wants. And he is tired of having to deny them both. But he will be the strong one. He will be the one to keep them safe from themselves. And from Heaven.

“Angel,” Crowley whispers but then Warlock is back and Aziraphale’s answer is that Nanny reminds him of someone very special and very dear. Warlock doesn’t ask again.

The boy grows up and soon it is time for his eleventh birthday. Crowley and he are following the boy and his adoptive mother discussing them.

“Well, that’s that then.” Crowley says.

“What next? How do we know if we’ve succeeded?” Aziraphale asks.

“Wednesday. That’s when it begins. Or if we’ve done our job properly, doesn’t begin. The Hell-hound will be the key. Shows up at three on Wednesday, at his birthday.” Crowley tells him.

“You haven’t actually mentioned a Hell-hound before,” Aziraphale says testily.

“Well, they’re sending him a Hell-hound, to pad by his side and guard him from all harm. Biggest one they’ve got.” Crowley tells him.

“Won’t people remark on the sudden appearance of a big black dog? His parents for a start.” Aziraphale asks, turning to face Crowley.

“Nobody’s going to notice anything. It’s reality, Angel.” Crowley says “And young Warlock can do as he likes with that. Whether he knows it or not. It’s the start of it all. The boys meant to name it: Stalks by Night or Throat-Ripper or something like that. But, if you and I have done our jobs properly he’ll send it away, unnamed.”

“And if he _does_ name it?”

“Then you and I have lost. He’ll have all his powers and Armageddon will be days away.” Crowley answers.

“There must be a way of stopping it.” Aziraphale says.

“If… there were no boy, then the process would stop.” Crowley offers quietly.

“But there is a boy. He’s over there writing a rude word on a description of a dinosaur.” Aziraphale says confused.

“There is a boy now. But that could change.” Aziraphale does not see. “Something could happen to him.” Aziraphale does not want to see. “I’m saying you could kill him.”

Aziraphale does not want to see. He feels sick. “I’ve never actually killed anything before. I don’t think I could.”

“Not even to save… everything?” Crowley whispers. “One tiny life against the universe?”

Aziraphale does not answer. He does not have an answer. He can’t. Can he? He was built a Healer. Not a soldier. She forced him into this role. He would Fall for that. Murder even the Antichrist. He would… wouldn’t he? And could he handle that? Being Raphael… being Aziraphale is all he knows. What even would he be able to do as a demon. He is soft enough as an Angel. How would he even begin to make it as a demon? He opens his mouth. His throat works but there is no sound. His vision is blurry. Suddenly his head frees itself from its frozen state and he shakes his head violently back and forth

“No,” it’s a strangled choked off sound. “The Hell-hound. It will show up at his birthday party?” his voice is still thick with emotion.

“Yes.” Crowley says, not pushing. Thank the Almighty.

“Well then, we should be there. Maybe… maybe I can stop the dog. In fact…” He has a wonderful idea. His face lights up. “I could… entertain.”

“No,” and it’s Crowley’s voice that is strangled now. “No. Please, no.”

Aziraphale flexes his hands and wiggles his fingers. “I’d just need to get back into practice.” He reaches into his pocket for a coin. Finding one, he tries out his sleight of hand trying to palm the coin and make it appear and disappear from between his fingers. It’s not working. But he is nothing if not optimistic.

“Please don’t do your magic act.” Crowley is begging him. “Please. I am begging you and you have no idea how demeaning that is.”

Aziraphale stands and tries to pull the coin from behind Crowley’s ear and drops it.

“It was in your finger.” Crowley accuses.

“It was in your ear.”

“It was in your pocket and then…”

“It was near your ear.” Aziraphale allows.

“It was never anywhere near my ear.”

“You are no fun.” Aziraphale says sitting down once again.

“Fun? It’s humiliating. You can do proper magic, you can make things disappear.”

“But it’s not as fun.”

“I’ll make you disappear.” Crowley mutters and Aziraphale knows he doesn’t mean it.

They spend the time between Sunday and Wednesday getting the booked caterers and entertainment to cancel and come in at the last minute as miraculous replacements. Crowley as a waiter and Aziraphale as a magician.

Aziraphale has dug out his hundred and fifty year old Victorian era suit from his closet and is trying to occupy the many eleven year olds sitting on the ground in front of him. He tries his card tricks but the deck is slipperier than the ones from when he was learning and they go flying. He tries to pull a rabbit out of his hat and he ends up with little eleven year old hecklers. He asks one of the secret service men for a handkerchief and miracles one too frilly that catches on his gun holster and Warlock the little… person, gets hold of it. And with a blink he has a water pistol as the rest of the kids run to grab their own pistols from the secret service men. And then they are all water pistols and those without pistols are throwing food and cake. And it’s past three with no sign of a Hell-hound. Crowley begins to take his leave and Aziraphale follows him out to the Bentley.

“It was all rather a disaster, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale says.

“Nonsense. You gave them a party to remember. Last one any of them will ever have mind.” Crowley assures him.

“It’s late.” Aziraphale says, pulling what was supposed to be the astounding end of a trick out of his sleeve in the form of a dead dove.

“Comes of putting it up your sleeve.” Crowley says.

Aziraphale gives him an unamused look. “The Hell-hound. It’s late.”

Crowley looks at the dove in Aziraphale’s hand then at Aziraphale and snaps the dove back to life. Aziraphale gives him a blinding smile and gets into the passenger seat of the Bentley just as the radio cuts to…

“Hello Crowley. Is something wrong?” Aziraphale looks down at the radio and back to Crowley. That’s a new trick.

“Um. Hi. Who is this?” Crowley asks nervously.

“Dagon. Lord of the Files. Master of Torments.” the radio answers.

“Yeah. Just checking in about the Hell-hound.” Crowley says.

“He was released minutes ago. He would be with you by now.” Aziraphale looks to and fro but sees no dog. “Why? Has something gone wrong, Crowley?” And Dagon sounds much too pleased if it has.

“Not at all. Ah, there he is. Great big Hell-hound. Great work down there guys. Nice talking to you.” Crowley says before flipping the radio off violently.

“No dog,” Aziraphale says looking around the area.

“No dog,” Crowley agrees without changing his thousand yard stare.

“Wrong boy,” Aziraphale says, matching his stare.

“Wrong boy,” Crowley agrees.

Oh dear.


	9. Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Warlock's fiasco of a birthday, Aziraphale does some thinking and he and Crowley take a trip.

The drive from Warlock's party to the backroom of the bookshop is silent. Aziraphale is fretting. They lost the Antichrist. He’s been influencing the wrong kid. They were both going to be in tremendous trouble. Once they reach the bookshop Aziraphale jumps out and they gather at one of the tables and Aziraphale pours them both a generous helping of expensive scotch as Crowley collapses into a chair.

“Armageddon is days away and we’ve lost the Antichrist. Why did the powers of Hell have to drag me into this anyway?” Crowley whines, taking the glass held out to him. 

_Why did you get dragged… Why did you drag ME into this?_ Is what Aziraphale wants to say but instead. “Don’t quote me on this but I think it has something to do with all those memos you sent back down saying how amazingly well you were doing.” Aziraphale says wryly.

“Is it my fault they never check up? I’m to blame they never check up? Anyway everyone stretches the truth a bit in memos to head office. You know that.” Crowley reminds him.

“Yes, but you told them you invented the Spanish Inquisition and started the second World War…”

“So the humans beat me to it.” Crowley says miserably. “I’d have gotten around to it eventually.” Crowley stops and sniffs the air. “Something's changed.”

Ah, he noticed. Aziraphale was wondering. “It’s a new cologne. My barber suggested it…”

“Not you. I know what you smell like.” Crowley interrupts.

 _You do?_ Aziraphale thinks.

“The Hell-hound has found its master.” Crowley continues.

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asks, lifting his glass to his lips.

“I felt it. Would I lie to you?” Crowley asks.

“Well, obviously. You’re a demon. It’s what you do.” Aziraphale says hating himself as the words leave his mouth.

“Well, I’m not lying. The boy, wherever he is, has the dog. He’s named it. We’re doomed.” Crowley says.

“Well then, welcome to the End Times.” Aziraphale says lowly taking a deep drink of his scotch. _Crowley. Lucifer._

“Yes, well. I suppose if we only have a few days left there isn’t much to be worried about in either of our destructions.” Crowley says nonchalantly.

Aziraphale is puzzled. _Nothing to worry about, dear boy?_

“Angel, if… if we don’t get out of this…” Crowley begins, reaching out to take a gentle hold of Aziraphale’s wrist.

“We will, Crowley. I have faith in us.” Aziraphale says, turning his hand over to hold Crowley’s own.

“I don’t want any regrets between us, Angel.” Crowley says. His voice low and soft.

“I don’t either, dear boy.” Aziraphale says with a sappy smile on his face.

“Then say yes, Angel,” Crowley whispers. He brings Aziraphale’s hand to his lips and runs the soft flesh of Aziraphale's hand against his soft lips. Aziraphale watches as Crowley kisses each finger, nibbling a little of the soft flesh of the pads. Aziraphale whimpers as Crowley takes one of his fingers into his mouth and sucks, lightly hollowing his mouth around the digit and he feels Crowley’s tongue swirl around the tip. “Tell me what you want. Anything at all.” Crowley breathes, blowing lightly against the wet finger he had been sucking on lightly.

“I…” Aziraphale begins, his breathing is shallow and his heartbeat is quick. “Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice is strangled. “Please.” _Yes. Please. Kiss me._

“I need you to say it, Angel.” Crowley says softly, barely a whisper.

“Let’s just…” _Hold me. I can’t kiss you. I won’t stop but please hold me._ “Slow down?” Aziraphale asks brokenly.

Crowley freezes with his lips around Aziraphale’s fingers and then he flinches as if hit and drops the hand in his grasp.

“I don’t know how much slower I can go for you, Angel. 6000 years of slow. What do you want from me?” Crowley says sadly and stands up to leave.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says brokenly. “I don’t want you to leave. Please. Stay.”

And Crowley pauses so Aziraphale reaches out for his hand and tugs gently until Crowley is standing in front of a still seated Aziraphale. Aziraphale looks up scared but loving this being in front of him. He is terrified.

“Just. Slow.” Aziraphale whispers, playing with Crowley's hand, his fingers tangling together with Crowley's. “I can’t… but we can hold each other. For a little while. Please?”

Crowley doesn’t answer but he takes his free hand and brings it up to dig into Aziraphale’s hair and then trailing down to cup his cheek, thumb brushing against Aziraphale’s parted lips.

“Oh, Angel, what you do to me.” Crowley whispers.

Aziraphale smiles brightly, still sad but oh so happy to be held by the demon he loves. One of the demons he loves. He still does love Lucifer. But it is an old ache now. He was made for Lucifer. But Crowley, he reminds him of Lucifer. Questioning. Concerned with fairness and free will. It’s not hard to see why Crowley would be one of Lucifer’s favoured in Hell even if he isn’t considered powerful Down There. Lucifer himself sends him the commendations. Aziraphale swallows.

“If we are going to do this, let’s be comfortable.” Aziraphale says with a forced happiness.

Crowley nods and steps back to allow Aziraphale room to stand. Aziraphale, never letting go of Crowley’s hand, leads him back to the settee and together they settle onto it. Aziraphale curled up to Crowley’s side. His head resting gently on Crowley's chest. “Just… for a little while?” Aziraphale asks and brings Crowley’s arm around his shoulder and kisses the palm of his hand.

There is silence between them. Heavy but not uncomfortable. Just weighted with something. Some expectation or feeling. Love perhaps. Contentment. Longing. Slowly the light dims outside the shop, only the lights inside the shop still shining brightly. And then the sun is coming up and late into the morning, Aziraphale pulls away and Crowley lets him go.

“I suppose I should at least try to open the shop.” Aziraphale says miserably.

“I suppose,” Crowley agrees and moves to stand. Aziraphale places a hand on his knee to stop him.

“I do want to, Crowley. I just… can’t.”

Crowley sighs “Right. Of course. Right. Can’t be seen to love a demon. Who would?” And he is gone before Aziraphale can answer. Tell him no. That’s not it at all.

He has the shop open and there are customers browsing when he feels Gabriel and Sandalphon enter the area. And the doorbell rings.

“Can I help you?” Aziraphale asks.

“I would like to purchase one of your material objects.” Gabriel says loudly, disturbing the other browsing patrons.

“Books,” Sandalphon corrects softly.

“Books,” Gabriel amends again loudly. “Let us discuss my purchase in a private place because I am buying…”

“Pornography?” Sandalphon suggests.

“Pornography,” Gabriel announces just as loudly as he has been talking and sounding exceptionally proud of himself.

“Gabriel, Sandalphon, please come into my backroom.” Aziraphale gestures them into the back and then follows.

“We humans are easily embarrassed. We must buy our pornography secretively.” Sandalphon announces loudly as he follows Gabriel as everyone follows Gabriel.

“Humans are so simple. And so easily fooled.” Gabriel brags as Aziraphale follows him into his backroom and stands trapped between Gabriel near the back door and Sandalphon guarding the exit to the front room.

Aziraphale laughs nervously. “Yes. You fooled them all.” He says.

“You remember Sandalphon.” Gabriel reintroduces them.

Aziraphale nods. “Sodom and Gomorrah. You were doing a lot of smiting, and turning people into salt. Hard to forget.” he smiles nervously.

Sandalphon grins, pleased with itself, sniffs and says, “Something smells… evil…”

Aziraphale feels a frisson of panic. “That’ll be the Jeffrey Archer books, I’m afraid.” He says quickly.

“Just came by check on the status of the Antichrist…” Gabriel gets to the reason for their visit.

“Why?” Aziraphale panics, “What’s wrong? I mean if something is wrong I can put my people onto it…” If they know…

“Nothing’s wrong. Everything's going perfectly. A lot is happening. All good.” Gabriel assures him.

“All good?” Aziraphale asks.

“All going according to the Divine Plan. The Hell-hound was set loose. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are being summoned. Death. Pollution. Famine. War.” Gabriel lists off.

“Oh. Right. Who summons them?” Aziraphale asks. Perhaps he can stop him.

“Not my department. I believe we outsource that sort of thing.”

“About time that’s what I say. You can’t have a war without War.” Sandalphon adds.

“I say, Sandalphon. That is very good. You can’t have a war without War? I may use that. Anyway, no problems? How was the Hell-hound?” Gabriel asks.

“I didn’t stick around to see.” Aziraphale says but Gabriel isn't listening.

“Thank you for my Pornography.” Gabriel shouts projecting intentionally into the front room. “Excellent job,” he tells Aziraphale. “You can’t have a war without War. Clever.” and he gives Sandalphon a friendly punch on the arm much softer than he would have given to Aziraphale, he is sure. Sandalphon laughs as he follows Gabriel out to the front room and all the way out of the shop. Aziraphale is left embarrassed at his business being insulted.

Aziraphale spends the day thinking about how they could have lost the Antichrist. He has a brilliant idea. He closes up the shop, ushering his few customers out the door and dials Crowley's number by memory. Crowley goes through his entry spiel and Aziraphale tries to interrupt. “Hello, Crowley? Is this on? It’s me. No leads yet at my end. Anything at your end? Listen I had a sort of an idea”

“What?” Crowley interrupts irritably.

“Well I was just wondering… Could there have possibly been another baby?” Aziraphale asks.

“WHAT?” Crowley screeches.

“Could there have been another baby? At the hospital?” He asks again. “Should… Crowley should we check?” He asks hesitantly.

“Yes, I’ll pick you up.” And Crowley hangs up.

Aziraphale spends his time until Crowley gets there putting shortbread into a tartan tin and thermos of hot chocolate and is waiting at the door when Crowley arrives. He climbs quickly into the Bentley and they take off into downtown London at frankly insane speeds.

“I brought us a little something in case we get peckish.” he says and turns to put his treats into the back seat. “So, you’ve lost the boy…”

“We’ve lost.” Crowley interrupts.

“A child has been lost. But you still know…”

“We know.” Crowley interrupts again.

“His age. His birthday. He’s eleven. There’ll be records. There’s always records. Everyone keeps records. You – alright, we – just have to look for them You can remember the hospital?” Aziraphale asks.

“You make it sound easy.”

“How hard can it be? I just hope nothing’s happened to him.” Aziraphale says, knowing on some level that that is precisely what they are hoping for. Something to happen to him.

“Happened to him? Nothing’s happened to him. He happens to everything!” Crowley insists.

“So all we’ve got to do is find the birth records. Go through the hospital files.” Aziraphale says ignoring both his internal voice and Crowley

“And then what?” Crowley asks irritably.

“Then we find the child.”

Crowley pauses. “And then what?” He emphasizes. “I don’t suppose you would reconsider with a different kid that we _haven’t_ raised?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale is silent. He still feels sick but it may be the only option to save this world that they both love. To save Crowley. To save Lucifer. He truly believes that Heaven will win. Or at least they will target Lucifer. And Crowley is too soft hearted to fight any more than Aziraphale. They had both been down here too long. Taken up empathy.

“Where is this hospital?” Aziraphale asks eventually.

“A village near Oxford, Tadfield.” Crowley answers.

“Crowley you can’t do ninety miles an hour in central London!” Aziraphale says, finally looking over at the speedometer.

“Why not?” Crowley asks, taking both hands off the wheel and looking over to him.

“You’ll get us killed! Inconveniently discorporated. Music! Why don’t I put on some music?” he rummages in the glove compartment and pulls out a CD. “What’s a Velvet Underground?” He asks

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“Ah, Be-bop.” He says.

Once they are on the more open roads outside of London, Crowley's hand finds its way high up Aziraphale’s thigh and he wants. He feels Crowley's thumb rub tight circles on his thigh and Aziraphale makes the decision to cover his hand with his own. He does not want to remove it. He wants it higher but is afraid to ask for it. With the hand so close to his… to his member, he wants things not appropriate for an angel to want. He is trying so hard to be a good angel. So he rests his hand on Crowley’s. Not encouraging. Not discouraging. Just there.

“This is the way to Tadfield manor. Does it look familiar?” Aziraphale asks, his fingers now entangled with the Crowley’s on his thigh.

“You know it does. I think there’s an airbase around here somewhere.” Crowley admits

“Airbase?” Aziraphale asks, confused.

“You don’t think American diplomats’ wives usually give birth in little religious hospitals in the middle of nowhere, do you? It all had to seem to happen naturally. There’s an airbase at Lower Tadfield, things started to happen, base hospital isn’t ready yet. Our man there says, ‘There’s a birthing hospital just down the road.’ And there we were. Rather good organisation.” Crowley says.

“Flawless,” Aziraphale says sarcastically.

“It should have worked,” Crowley insists.

“Ah but evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction. No matter how well—planned, how foolproof an evil plan, no matter how apparently successful it may seem upon the way, in the end it will founder upon the rocks of iniquity and vanish.”

“For my money it was just an ordinary cock-up.”

They reach Tadfield and Crowley pulls up in front of a regal looking building with expensive looking cars parked out front.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Aziraphale asks as they step out of the car. “This place doesn’t look like a hospital… and it feels loved.”

“No it’s the right place. How do you mean? Loved?” Crowley asks confused.

“I mean the opposite of when you say, ‘I don’t like this place it feels spooky.’” Aziraphale says seriously.

“I never say that. I like spooky. Big spooky fan, me. Let’s go talk to some nuns.” Crowley says as he starts walking up to the building.

They have just walked through the front gates when two shots ring out and he feels a pain in his back and drops. For a moment he thinks he is being discorporated. But then Crowley is helping him to sit up and Aziraphale is examining the back of his coat. He notices out of the corner of his eye, Crowley transforming into something monstrous and the gentleman falling down but is more concerned with his coat. His precious coat.

“That was fun,” Crowley comments when the human is down.

“Yes, fun for you. Just look at the state of this coat. I’ve kept it in tip-top condition for over a hundred and eighty years now. I’ll never get this stain out.” Aziraphale tells him, distressed.

“You could miracle it away,” Crowley offers.

“Yes. But, I would always know the stain was there. Underneath I mean,” Aziraphale pouts turning his stain to face Crowley. He’s done it before. Fixed things just for Aziraphale’s sake.

Crowley looks at him with an impassive look on his face but he comes closer and with a puff of breath the paint is dissolving into the air.

“Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale says happily with a bright wide smile. To avoid Crowley’s unamused stare, Aziraphale bends to pick up the gun the human had been carrying. It’s not a real gun at all. “This gun, Crowley. I’ve looked it over. It’s not a proper one at all. It just shoots paintballs.”

“Don’t your lot disapprove of guns?” Crowley asks amusedly.

“Unless they are in the right hands. Then they lend weight to a moral argument. I think.” The propaganda had been a bit sketchy on that.

“A moral argument? Really?” Crowley laughs as he takes the gun. “Come on.” He sets down the gun and Aziraphale follows him into what used to be a hospital.

Aziraphale is looking around in confusion, this doesn’t look like a hospital, while Crowley is leafing through a brochure.

“This is definitely the place but this is definitely not a hospital.” Crowley tells him. “I wonder where the nuns went.”

There is a woman running towards them in combat gear and as she passes she asks. “Who’s winning?”

“You are all going to lose.” Crowley says and snaps his fingers and the sounds of actual gunfire sound from outside.

Aziraphale is horrified. “What the Hell did you just do?” he stutters.

“They wanted real guns so I just gave them what they asked for.” Crowley tells him unashamedly.

“You mean they are killing each other out there?” Aziraphale asks as they ascend to the second floor.

Crowley sighs. “No nobody is killing anyone. They are all having miraculous escapes.”

“You know, Crowley. I’ve always said that you were really quite a nice…”

Crowley is moving at the word nice he grabs Aziraphale roughly and shoves him back against the wall behind him. Aziraphale is shocked into silence but he isn’t afraid. This is Crowley. Crowley wouldn’t hurt him.

Crowley is talking but Aziraphale is not listening. He wants to listen. He wants to hear Crowley’s voice all the time. But he is more concerned with the feel of their bodies pressed together and Crowley's lips so close to his own.

“Pardon me gentlemen. Sorry to break up an intimate moment. But can I help you?” A fine dressed business woman interrupts rudely.

Crowley backs away for a moment and she freezes as he snaps. Aziraphale is only tangentially aware of what is happening. He wants to kiss Crowley. He wants it so badly it scares him. He is supposed to be a good angel. Crowley turns back to him and pushes him farther against the wall and moves his knee between Aziraphale's thick thighs. They are flush together and Aziraphale whimpers quietly.

“Ask me?” Crowley whispers nearly already kissing him. Their lips brushing past each other as Crowley speaks.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale swallows. Be a good angel. “You didn’t have to do that.” he whispers but he can feel his body leaning into Crowley’s and his member hardening without his consent.

“She’ll be fine. Ask me.” Crowley says once more.

 _Be a good angel_. Aziraphale blinks and backs up against the wall. “We should get going.”

Crowley gives a low growl that does things to Aziraphale's anatomy that he would rather not examine as he moves away. Aziraphale takes a moment to straighten his waistcoat and bowtie before he moves over to question the woman.

“Um,” Aziraphale clears his throat. “Hello. Were you by any chance a nun here at this hospital eleven years ago?” He asks.

“I was,” she answers immediately.

“Luck of the devil.” Aziraphale smirks. And watches Crowley do a double take. Crowely has always had astonishing luck both good and bad.

Crowley growls again “What happened to the baby I gave you?” He demands.

“I swapped him with the son of the American Ambassador. Such a nice man. He used to be Ambassador to Swindon.”

Swindon? Aziraphale thinks confused.

“The American Ambassador. Where did he come from? What did he do with the baby?” Crowley demands again. He is getting angry.

“I don’t know.” The woman answers.

“Records!” Aziraphale exclaims. “There must have been records.”

“Yes. Lots of records. We were very good at keeping records.”

“Well, where are they?” Aziraphale asks calmly.

“Burned in the fire.”

Crowley growls again.

“Is there anything you remember about the baby?” Aziraphale asks, hoping for something.

“He had lovely little toesie-woesies.” Aziraphale coos.

“Let’s go, Angel.” Crowley says.

Aziraphale pauses to tell the woman. “You will wake having dreamt of whatever you like best.” And Crowley grabs his elbow and leads him away. As they make their way down to the car to leave they pass through the police who have arrived and the other humans.

“You’d think he’d show up somehow. You’d think we could detect him in some way.” Aziraphale muses out loud.

“He won’t show up. Not to us. Protective camouflage. He won’t even know it but his powers will keep him hidden from prying occult forces.” Crowley tells him.

“Occult forces?” Aziraphale asks.

“You and me.”

“I’m not occult. Angel’s aren’t occult, we’re ethereal.”

“Whatever,” Crowley growls again and again, Aziraphale feels himself twitch.

They both climb back in the Bentley and Crowley begins to drive away. Aziraphale, feeling brave, offers his hand palm up on the seat between them. But Crowley doesn’t take it. Slowly, his hand closes up on itself. Ashamed and hurt. They are well on the road when Crowley takes the invitation and Aziraphale feels a thrum of pleasure in his chest.

“Is there some other way of locating him?” Aziraphale asks, smiling despite himself.

“How the Heaven should I know? Armageddon only happens once you know. They don’t let you go round again until you get it right. But I know one thing. If we don’t find him it won’t be the war to end all wars. It will be the war to end everything.” Crowley answers testily.

While they are driving, Aziraphale hears a bang and a thump and Crowley stops the car abruptly.

“You’ve hit someone.” Aziraphale says stunned.

“I haven’t. Someone’s hit me.” Crowley insists and they both get out of the car.

“Let there be light.” Aziraphale says and with a snap there is a bright glow suffusing the area.

A murmured “how did you do that?” has him feeling ashamed while Crowley snaps the light back off.

Aziraphale makes his way down the embankment to the individual that was hit. “Up you get. No bones broken,” He says healing the broken arm, and doesn’t it feel good to do what he was made to do.

“My bike,” The young lady says.

“Ah,” it’s bent and damaged only for a moment more. “Amazingly resilient these old machines.” Aziraphale says picking up the now undamaged bike. “Where do you need to get to?” He asks her.

“We are not giving her a ride. There’s no where to put the bike.” Crowley says.

“Except the bike rack.” Aziraphale says and Crowley turns to look at the back of the car and sees the miraculously appearing bike rack that Aziraphale put there.

“Fine” Crowley growls. “Where are we taking you?” he asks the young lady sarcastically as Aziraphale gathers her belongings and ushers her into the back of the car.

“Back to the village. I’ll give you directions.” She says climbing into the car.

They drive in silence with her giving brief directions on where and when to turn. “My bike didn’t have gears. I know my bike didn’t have gears.” She says suddenly and Aziraphale feels caught.

“Oh Lord, Heal this bike.” Crowley whispers sarcastically.

“I got carried away,” he protests weakly.

“You can drop me off here.” The young lady says and Crowley pulls to a stop. Aziraphale gets out of the car and helps her to climb out of the back seat and her miraculously ungeared bike is sitting next to the garden gate.

“Oh look. No gears. Just a perfectly normal velocipede.” Aziraphale says.

“Bicycle. Get in, Angel.” Crowley says. _Bicycles have gears. Crowley. Velocipedes don’t._ Aziraphale thinks getting into the car.

The ride is silent again, Aziraphale offers his hand and Crowley doesn’t hesitate to take it. “Dessert?” Aziraphale asks.

Crowley nods his head and stops at the next available cafe. Crowley orders a coffee and Aziraphale gets his cake.He is thinking. Thinking of all of his resources and what to do with them. How they can help. He checks some off immediately and some he considers before deciding no.

“Perhaps we could get another human to find him.” He muses aloud, thinking of the army of witchfinders he has on payroll.

“What?” Crowley asks distractedly.

“Humans are good at finding other humans. They’ve been doing it for thousands of years. And the child is partly human. Other humans may be able to sense him, perhaps.”

“He’s the Antichrist. He’s got an automatic defence. Or something. Suspicion will slide off him like… whatever it is water slides off of.” Crowley says. He seems distracted to Aziraphale.

“Got any better ideas? Or a single better idea?” Aziraphale asks smugly. He knows there is no better option at the moment. Crowley stays silent and pays for the dessert with one of his cards and they head back to the car.

Aziraphale is happy. Not that they have lost the boy or that it is seemingly so difficult to find him but because when he offers his hand for the third time today, Crowley takes it without hesitation.

Aziraphale is thinking. He is thinking about what would happen if Crowley stopped the car here and turned to him. If Aziraphale would stop saying no. Or if Crowley just stopped caring about his no. But mostly those are idle thoughts that come into his head whenever he is in close proximity to Crowley. No, mostly he is thinking about how to tell Crowley about his team of agents on Earth. Best just get it over with.

“Look,” Aziraphale says as they are approaching London. “There’s something I should tell you. I have a… network of highly trained human agents. I could set them searching for the boy.”

“I have something similar. Human operatives.” Crowley admits.

“Should they work together?” Aziraphale asks hesitantly. He doesn’t think they would mesh well.

“Probably not. My lot are not very sophisticated, politically speaking.” Crowley tells him.

“No. Neither are mine. So, we tell our respective operatives to look for the boy?” Aziraphale asks.

“Ducks!” Crowley exclaims suddenly.

“What?” Aziraphale asks, confused.

“That’s what water slides off of.” Crowley tells him.

“Just drive the car please.” Aziraphale says. Ducks really.

The rest of the drive is taken silently. Crowley lifts their enjoined hands several times to press his lips to the back of Aziraphale’s hand and sets it down higher and higher on Aziraphale’s thigh until it is practically in his lap. Aziraphale does not stop it. He doesn’t want to stop it. He is hoping that Crowley will notice his hardness and stop the car. To take it in hand or mouth and… Aziraphale makes a very bad angel.

It is late at night when they reach the bookshop and Aziraphale and Crowley both get out. Aziraphale reaches into the back for his thermos and tin of shortbread when he sees a book.

“There’s a book back there.” he says.

“No mine.” Crowley says leaning on the car.

“It must belong to the young lady you hit with your car.” Aziraphale says testily and picks up the book. He reads the cover and rereads the cover but it doesn’t change. This is the book. The book that everyone who is in the know wants but can’t find because it doesn’t exist any longer. _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch._ He is holding a copy of the book.

Crowley is talking. Saying something but Aziraphale can’t hear him over the rushing in he ears from his heart beat pounding.

“Oh, jolly good. Yes.” He says dragging a portion of his attention back to Crowley.

“Then we will ask our operatives to search for the boy?” Crowley asks.

“Sorry?” Aziraphale is still distracted.

“Are you alright, Angel?” Crowley asks worriedly.

“Perfectly. Yes. Tip-top. Absolutely tickety-boo.” Aziraphale tells him rushing for the bookshop. “Mind how you go.” He tells Crowley as he enters and closes the door, locking it behind him.

He sets his things down quickly and puts the book reverently on his desk. He pauses and tells himself to wait. He is going to read the book but he must be careful. He goes to make himself a cup of hot cocoa the better for reading and then sits down. He pulls on his gloves to handle the book with care. This has been in a private collection with no concern for the rarity of the book because someone has drawn on the title page. A young child by the looks of it.

He pauses and opens the book to a random page and reads. “3008: When the Angel doth readeth these words of mine, in his shoppe of other menne’s books., then the final days are certes upon us. Open thine eyes to understand. Open thine eyes and rede, I do say foolish principalitee, for thy cocoa doth grow cold.” He pauses a moment in confusion. “Cocoa doth grow cold? What…” He looks over at the cocoa. Oh she was good. And he dives back in. He reads through that night and the next day his cocoa long gone cold and forgotten.


	10. Choices Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale faces choices, too many and he makes some difficult decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bandstand incoming.

It is Thursday morning and the phone is ringing. Aziraphale jumps startled at the sudden noise and looks at the phone before picking it up.

Crowley’s voice comes over the wire, “Any news? Find the missing Antichrist yet?” He sounds irritable.

“No! No news. Nothing at all. If I had anything I’d tell you. Obviously. We’re friends, why would you even ask me?” He lies quickly. He knows. He has read the book. He knows where to find him. If not his name and address.

“Chill. I was just asking. No news here either. Well, they’re taking the wrong boy to Megiddo. But they’ll find out soon enough. Are you alright?” Crowley asks. “Not, changing your mind? I’m free and available for whatever you want to do, Angel. But I would really love to be kissing you right now.” Crowley’s voice has changed. It is low and seductive.

Aziraphale inhales sharply at it being put so bluntly over the phone.

“That’s not all I’d like to do with you. I’d like to taste you again. Your fingers were delectable but I want to know what every inch of your skin tastes like. Are you as sweet as I think you’d be? You eat so many desserts I think they’ve quite made you sweet to taste. The sugar on your lips from your cocoa.” Crowley keeps talking and Aziraphale lets out a shaky exhale.

“I want to run my hands under that waistcoat of yours you’ve been wearing for entirely too long. To pop open those buttons that have probably never been undone since you first put it on. I want to see you out of all those stuffy layers. I want to see you in all your glory and I want you to see me in mine. Do you know I’ve thought of you? I’m always thinking of you but I thought of you earlier today and I want to make that come true. Would you? With me? Say the word, Angel. Say yes and I will come to you. Wherever you are. No regrets, Angel.” Crowley is talking and Aziraphale has the phone pressed tightly to his face, breathing hard and shifting uncomfortably at his desk.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale is panting. He eyes the book. He wants to tell Crowley. He wants to kiss Crowley. He wants all those things that Crowley said. He wants. But he eyes the book. He eyes the bibles, misprinted as they are and he needs to be a good angel. “I… I will call you. As soon as I know anything.” He pauses waiting for something from Crowley that doesn’t come. “Crowley, I want to kiss you as well,” he says quietly, almost hoping Crowley will miss it. And then he hangs up.

Aziraphale is hard and wanting and panting when he hangs up the phone. The bookshop door is locked but the blinds are open. He stands unsteadily and makes his way to the backroom. He collapses onto the settee and his hand finds its way to his hard member through his trousers. He whimpers. _Crowley._ He wants. Why does he keep saying no? Why does he not just give in and let himself have what he wants?

And the answer comes to him in the form of Lucifer. Blond hair long and gleaming spread out around his head, his long elegant fingers wrapped around Aziraphale's own. _Lucifer._ He was made to love Lucifer. How could he betray him with Crowley. If Lucifer ever found out… but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t remember to be jealous of Crowley. He wouldn’t remember there was ever an angel he loved with all his heart that was taken from him. He wouldn’t care. But Aziraphale. He knows. And he would care.

Aziraphale removes his hand from it’s grip around himself as if burnt. How could he betray Lucifer so many times in his heart and in his mind. He is hard and wanting but he can’t stop the tears streaming down his face. He can’t choose Crowley. It goes against his design. She made him to be a companion to Her first born. He can’t betray that. It’s in Her Plan. He just… has to trust Her. It doesn’t stop the wanting nor does it stop the tears. He spends long hours just weeping but soon they dry. He sits up from his prone position on the settee and thinks of Lucifer. Of kind Lucifer and strong Lucifer. Of playful Lucifer. The Lucifer that had held him gently and kissed his fingertips as if he was kissing the flower petals soft and gentle. The Lucifer that hung the stars and said they were just for him. Just for his Raphael. Who named the stars after him. Whose names were forgotten and stolen by Her.

He is still aching. He wants. He takes himself in hand once more. And thinks about his Lucifer. He thinks about the Lucifer that would walk with him through the workshops. That showed him how he made the stars. Who took his hands into his own and helped him to make Alpha Centauri A. Of the Lucifer that created Alpha Centauri B and set them to circling one another and said that they would be like they were themselves, circling, orbiting one another forever. Never one without the other. Shining so close together to shine as one in the night sky.

He thinks of Lucifer’s elegant fingers gripping him, stroking him. He thinks of Lucifer’s smile and his laugh and of his mouth. Kissing him. Sucking him. And he comes with a sigh of “Lucifer” and he is hollow and empty without Lucifer’s hand to hold him. Without Crowley’s arms.

He cleans himself up mechanically and goes back to his desk. He is no longer hard in his trousers but the aching want in his chest is still there but now for which of them he can’t say. His first love or his second.

He turns back to the book and the next prophecy on his list. 3817: The Number of the Beast is in the Revelayting of Sainte John, call hym in Taddes field. And ye will know hym by this sign, that when ye do call to hym, the Lesser Beast will walk upon his hinde legs like unto a Dancing Bear.

Call him? In Tadfield? The number of the Beast in Saint John’s Revelations? He is confused but he pulls out one of his old bibles and searches down Saint John’s Revelations. And reads: “‘Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is six hundred threescore and six’… It can’t be that simple.” He says aloud. He looks askance at the pad of paper upon which he had been doing scores of mathematics doubtfully and then says to himself and the empty room. “I would have to put the Tadfield area code first of course.” He picks up the phone.

He dials the number for Tadfield and six six six. And waits until they pick up. In the background he can hear a young boy.

“Dad! Look! I got Dog to walk on his hind legs!”

 _Oh good Lord. I’ve found him._ He thinks to himself. Aloud he says. “Sorry. Right number.” And hangs up. The missing Antichrist is living in Tadfield with his Hell-hound. And Aziraphale knows where. He can backtrack the number Tadfield 046 666.

He digs out maps and string and makes notations. 4 Hogback Lane Tadfield. Is circled on his map. The home of the Antichrist. Airbase is noted. Four Horsemen is noted and all together it points to the end of the world.

Creating his board takes the rest of Thursday and that night. By the next morning he is fretting. He is pacing and fretting and pacing and fretting.

“Come on. Buck up. Worse things happen at sea.” He says to the empty room trying to get up the courage to meet with Gabriel and the others. “Right. You’ll just go to head office, and explain it all.” His hands are wringing together. He decides to try practising what he will say to Gabriel.

“So.” He takes a deep breath. “Gabriel. Ah, listen. Gabriel. Most holy Archangel Gabriel… no that’s too formal. Hello Gabriel, me old mate. There is a, a child, we have to deal with. And make everything okay again.”

He takes a deep breathe and tries again. “Hello, Gabriel. Just thought you ought to know, that due to an unfortunate mix-up in a hospital, the Antichrist has been mislaid. But it’s all right because I’ve found him. He is living in the English village of Tadfield. And his eleventh birthday was the start of the… end of things. Um, I have his address here, so if we just eliminate him now, then everything could still be okay. He’ll have an enormous Hell-hound with him. He won’t be hard to spot.”

Aziraphale would never beg his former brothers and sisters for anything. For one, he knows it would never be granted. But secondly, it’s humiliating for him to beg for help from those who he used to be equal with. He is about to go begging. To save them. Crowley and Lucifer. Lucifer and Crowley. Whichever way you want to say it. He needs them to survive this. Both of them. He can choose between them once they all make it out of this.

He has a meeting with the Archangels scheduled for the early evening. He spends the rest of the long, too long, day fretting and planning but he knows despite all his planning for what and how to phrase things that it will all go out the window as soon as he is faced with the disappointment in his former Brothers and Sisters eyes.

He makes his way to the Tower early and up the elevator to the meeting room. The sun is low in the sky and the skylines of the world are ablaze in light. He is waiting patiently but nervously for the Four Archangels to arrive and thinks bitterly that it should be six of them.

“So, Aziraphale. We got your message. You’ve got something big. Lay it on us.” Gabriel says expectantly.

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale says distracted by nerves.

“What’s happening?” Uriel says shortly.

“Well. Okay. So, it’s about the Antichrist.” Aziraphale gives several false starts before getting to the point.

“Yes?” Uriel asks unimpressed.

“I think that um… Well. It’s not impossible, considering all the alternatives, that the, the other side, might have lost track of him.” Aziraphale says stuttering and nervous. Don’t ask me how I know.

“The other side?” Michael asks. And Aziraphale takes one hand from where they rest behind his back fidgeting nervously to point downwards.

“Lost track of him? He’s the son of the US Ambassador. He’s under constant surveillance.” Gabriel says haughtily and confused.

“The ‘other side’ are currently transporting him to the plains of Megiddo. Apparently that’s the traditional starting point.” Michael adds his voice strict.

“Middle Eastern unrest. Everything else follows. Four Horsemen ride out. Last great battle between Heaven and Hell.” Gabriel tells him.

“Yes.” Aziraphale swallows heavily. “Well, it’s possible that the demon Crowley… a wily adversary. Keeps me on my toes,” He smiles nervously and rocks onto his toes. “But the um… American ambassador’s son, well, it may have been a ruse…” He finishes quietly.

“A ruse?” Sandalphon asks.

“And the actual Antichrist might be, um, somewhere else.” He offers nervously.

“Where?” Gabriel asks shortly.

“Not sure. I mean… I could find out. I have my agents. Dedicated team who could investigate the possibility. Hypothetically speaking, if this were the case…” He trails off.

“It wouldn’t change anything, Aziraphale.” Uriel says harshly. Uriel always was harshly independent and sure of themself.

“There was war in Heaven, long before the Earth was created. Crowley and the rest were cast out. But things were never really settled.” Gabriel tells him. And he must remember a vastly different Fall than Raphael… Aziraphale. He may not have been there when the rest Fell but he remembers Lucifer’s Fall and it was not a War it was a punishment and it did not happen before the Earth was created it happened exactly 17 days later with the humans Falling on the 20th.

“No. Right,” Aziraphale says instead. “I suppose they weren’t. But there doesn’t have to be another war, does there?” he asks timidly.

“When your cause is just you do not hesitate to smite the foe, Aziraphale.” Michael tells him his words harsh and tone cold.

“We all look forward to a good foe-smiting,” Sandalphon says. It’s always been the most blood-thirsty and ruthless.

“Much as we’ve enjoyed your hypotheticals, Aziraphale. I’m afraid we have things to get back to. The Earth isn’t going to just end itself, you know.” Gabriel says harshly.

“No. Yes. Right. Sorry.” Aziraphale says and waits until the Archangels have filed out before he leaves and makes his way back to the elevator.

He watches the world get bigger and bigger and focus in on London and soon enough is at street level. He considers what would happen if he took it to the lowermost level and asked to see Lucifer. If he would remember him. Lucifer had called his name at the end. Like She had given back a portion of those memories to him if only to take them away once again because Lucifer had never sought him out.

Once he reaches the bookshop once again, he sits heavily at his desk and eyes his board of clues and revelations. He still hasn’t put his people onto finding the Antichrist. He supposes it doesn’t much matter any more. After all, he knows who and where he is. He sighs. He should… He should prepare to fight. What he wants is to call Crowley. What he does instead is call Shadwell and have him send a team to Tadfield.

He is just pacing the bookshop debating whether to call Crowley when the phone rings. He picks it up and hears Crowley.

“It’s me. Meet me at the third alternative rendezvous.”

And Aziraphale knows he made up these stupid code names and meeting places but can’t for the life of him remember what the third one is. “Is that the old bandstand, the number 19 bus, or the British Museum Cafe?”

“The bandstand. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” And Crowley hangs up.

It takes almost exactly fifteen minutes for Aziraphale to get to the bandstand through the locked park and Crowley is already waiting for him. _Be a good angel. Be a good angel. Be a good angel._ Runs on repeat through his mind as he approaches.

“Any news?” Crowley asks.

“Um. What kind of news is that?”Aziraphale asks like he doesn’t already know.

“Well, do you have the missing Antichrist’s name address and show size yet?” Crowley bursts out and Aziraphale flinches.

“Shoe size? Why would I have his shoe size?” Aziraphale laughs nervously. Guiltily. He knows he does. His chest is tight and it’s hard to breathe. He wants to shout out _I know where he is. Please. Help me fix this._ But also _Be a good angel. Be a good angel._ He can’t do both. He can’t be both. He can’t have both. And the choice is killing him. Crowley or Heaven. Be a good angel or a bad angel. Crowley or Lucifer. He is breaking in two and he doesn’t know how to stop it.

“Joke. I’ve got nothing either.” Crowley says breaking him out of his spiral.

“It’s the Great Plan, Crowley.” Aziraphale says brokenly.

“For the record, great pustulent mangled bollocks to the Great Blasted Plan.” Crowley shouts to the Heavens. He is angry. Aziraphale understands.

“May you be Forgiven.” Aziraphale says sadly and he wishes for all he is worth that Crowley could be forgiven he didn’t deserve to Fall. None of them did.

“I won’t be forgiven. Not ever. That’s part of a demon’s job description. Unforgivable. That’s what I am.” Crowley tells him angrily.

“You were an angel once.” Aziraphale reminds him as if Crowley could forget.

“That was a long time ago. We find the boy…” Crowley begins.

“And then what? Eliminate him?” Aziraphale asks appalled. He can’t. Not an innocent and for all that he is the Antichrist he is a child. Children have not made the choice to sin. Crowley was the one to tell him that.

“Well… somebody does. I’m not personally up for killing kids.” Crowley says.

“You’re the demon. I’m the nice one. I don’t have to kill children.” Aziraphale says.

“Uh-uh.” Crowley says shaking his head.

“If you kill him, then the world gets reprieve and Heaven does not have blood on its hands.” Aziraphale says looking up to the Heavens wondering if they are being watched now.

“Heaven?” Crowley asks incredulously. “Heaven has all the blood on its hands, Angel. You just mean you won’t. That’s a bit holier than thou, isn’t it?” Crowley bites out.

“I am a great deal holier than thou. That’s the whole point.”Aziraphale says. _That’s the whole problem. Please. I don’t want to fight. You or anyone._ He didn’t come here to fight. And he feels sick.

“Then you should kill the boy yourself. Holi-ly.” Crowley says viciously.

“I’m not killing anybody.” Aziraphale insists.

“This is ridiculous. I don’t even know why I am still talking to you.” Crowley says.

“Frankly, neither do I,” Aziraphale says truthfully, subdued and sad.

“Enough,” Crowley says and turns away.

“You can’t leave, Crowley. There isn’t anywhere to go,” And Aziraphale feels his throat closing up.

Suddenly Aziraphale is pushed up against one of the pillars of the bandstand much like in the hospital but this time he is afraid. His eyes are wide and his hands grip Crowley’s his breathing is picking up in fear. “Don’t go! First it's no never, then it’s yes please, but never do you give yourself what you want. What I want. I’m getting tired of this game you are playing, Angel. We are out of time!” Crowley hisses and growls. His voice fluctuating in his rage. Then he is looking up. His gaze softens and he looks back down to Aziraphale. “Big universe. Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we could go off together.” His voice is softer now, lovingly.

“Go off, together?” Aziraphale asks breathlessly. _Yes. Please. Somewhere we can be safe._

Crowley is staring at him. One of his hands lets go of Aziraphale’s coat and tears off his glasses, putting them in his pocket. Aziraphale swallows heavily. He always loved seeing Crowley’s eyes when he let himself relax enough to stop wearing those stupid glasses.

“Angel,” Crowley whispers.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice is just as low.

“We are running out of time. If I don’t kiss you now I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance. Don’t tell me no again. Please.” And Crowley looks so heartbroken. As much as Aziraphale feels.

Aziraphale swallows and licks his lips. “Just a kiss?” His voice is nearly gone just his lips moving with an exhale of breath.

“Oh, Angel, I want anything you’ll give me. Even if it’s just a kiss.” Crowley sounds so heartbroken and raw.

 _Crowley. Or Lucifer. But Lucifer isn’t here. He isn’t the one that’s been there for 6000 years._ Aziraphale gives a slight nod. The choice isn’t much of a choice really, is it?

“Say it?” Crowley asks.

“Kiss me, Crowley.” Aziraphale begs breathlessly.

And Crowley does. And Aziraphale sighs into the kiss and his mouth opens letting Crowley in. He can’t help but feel that this is wrong somehow and that he is a bad angel for allowing this and it keeps him distracted and reserved. He hates himself. _Be a good angel._

Crowley backs away, his eyes and face broken as he shakes his head and Aziraphale looks up at him. Crowley shakes his head again and turns away.

“I’m sorry, Crowley.. But even if I did know where the Antichrist was I wouldn’t tell you. We’re on opposite sides.” He is crying, Tears are running down his cheeks and he can’t stop them.

“We were on our side.” Crowley says not turning around.

“There isn’t an ‘our side’, Crowley. Not anymore. It’s over.” and his heart is breaking and his chest is tight and everything feels raw and broken.

“Right. Have a nice doomsday.” Crowley says blankly and walks away. And Aziraphale falls to kneel on the cold ground and weeps.

Aziraphale stays there weeping for long hours until the sun begins to rise over the horizon. And he curses his tender heart and Heaven and Her for breaking what they had in Heaven. For casting out any of them. They could have been happy. All of them if She hadn’t… wanted to test them.


	11. A Bad Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale finally makes a choice and becomes a bad angel.

Saturday dawns cold and empty. Aziraphale has spent the night on the cold hard ground of St. James’ park. As the sun rises so does he. He is walking dejectedly through the park people watching, it’s more fun to people watch with Crowley, and as he does he feels Gabriel approaching quickly. That’s right, Gabriel likes to jog through the parks. It’s a miracle that he hasn’t seen Aziraphale and Crowley there together long before now. He tries to get Gabriel’s attention but when he doesn’t acknowledge him, Aziraphale starts jogging at his side. He’s never jogged before and he’s sure it shows in his awkwardness.

“It’s me.” Aziraphale tells him.

“I know it’s you, Aziraphale.” Gabriel says testily. Of course, he was ignoring him. But…

“Yes. Look. We have to get word upstairs to, to, the Big Boss. There are prophecies.” Aziraphale says, _the only way I’ve been kept in the loop_.

“And what’s in human prophecies that matters to us?” Gabriel asks.

“The kraken wakes and rises from the sea floor. So does Atlantis. The rain forests return. And that’s just for starters. Armageddon is coming. I’m fairly certain it starts today. Just after teatime.” Aziraphale lists running out of breath.

“Exactly. Right on schedule. I really don’t see what the problem is.” Gabriel says plainly.

“Look, will you please slow down, just a minute!” Aziraphale begs coming to a breathless stop. His corporation isn’t used to exercise like jogging. He is out of shape. But Gabriel does stop not a hair out of place the ba… yes well.

“Well?” Gabriel asks harshly.

“I just… I just thought there was something we could do.” Aziraphale says breathlessly.

“There is. We can fight. And we can win!” Gabriel says triumphantly.

“But there doesn’t have to be a war.” Aziraphale says once again, almost begging him to reconsider.

“Of course there does. Otherwise how would we win it? Wrap up anything you need to wrap up down here. Report back to active service. And…” He trails off then gently, for Gabriel, punches him playfully in the stomach. “Lose the gut. You’re a lean, mean, fighting machine. What are you?” Gabriel asks but is already jogging away.

“I’m… I’m soft.” Aziraphale says miserably. Then jumps as Gabriel who has teleported back taps him on the shoulder.

“Nearly forgot. According to our records you were issued with a flaming sword. You haven’t lost it?” Gabriel asks.

Aziraphale knows panic in that moment. “Like I’d just give it away or something.” He says nervously, guilty. Gabriel smiles and nods before getting on with his jogging once again.

Aziraphale continues his walk disconsolately. He doesn’t know what else to do. Who else there is to talk to. Just the Archangels who are in the corner offices. Then there’s the Metatron but he doesn’t have any power just a spokesperson. Then God Herself. He can’t talk to the Almighty Herself. Can he? Truthfully he hasn’t even tried to talk to Her since the Fall. She had contacted him the once, about the sword. And apparently She told no one that he had… set it down and forgotten where he put it.

He is making his way back to the bookshop when he hears Crowley’s voice calling for him and he stops walking. He turns around and there is Crowley getting out of the Bentley and coming towards him.

“I’m sorry. I apologize. Whatever I said, I didn’t mean it.” Crowley says grabbing Aziraphale’s elbow. “Work with me, I’m apologizing here. Yes. Good. Get in the car.” And now Crowley is tugging forcefully on his arm but Aziraphale does not allow himself to be moved, physically.

“What? No!” Aziraphale says even though he wants to. But where would they even go in the Bentley?

“Forces of Hell. They’ve figured out it’s my fault. We can run away, together. Alpha Centauri,” Crowley says and Aziraphale’s chest clenches. Alpha Centauri? Why there? Anywhere but there with his illicit love. He can’t go to Alpha Centauri with Crowley of all people. “Lot’s of spare planets up there. Nobody will notice us.” Crowley finishes and Aziraphale looks up to the sky as if he can see Alpha Centauri shining in the daytime.

Aziraphale shakes his head in negation. “Crowley, you’re being ridiculous. I’m quite sure that if I can just reach the right people, I can get all this sorted.” Aziraphale says. He has to hope he can get this all sorted.

“There aren’t any right people. There’s just God moving in mysterious ways and NOT TALKING TO ANY OF US!” Crowley shouts.

“Well, yes. That’s why I’m going to have a word with the Almighty and the Almighty will fix it.” Aziraphale hopes. She wouldn’t ignore a former Archangel would She? Or has She forgotten him as well?

“That won’t happen.” Crowley says shaking his head. “How can someone as clever as you be so stupid?”

Crowley is angry and upset and Aziraphale understands. But he has to have faith in the Almighty. Without faith, what kind of angel is he? A bad angel. “I forgive you.” He says. And he means it. He will defy the rules and forgive Crowley. He is not unforgivable to him. He never has been.

“I’m going home, Angel. I’m getting my stuff and I’m leaving and I… I won’t even think of you.” Crowley shouts as he gets back into the Bentley and drives off speeding through downtown London. And Aziraphale can tell it’s a lie. Whether he means to lie to Aziraphale or to himself is anyone’s guess but probably both.

Aziraphale stands there as a complete stranger tells him he’s better off without Crowley and he can’t help but think. _No. No, I’m not._ He resolves to continue his plan to contact the Almighty. She has to listen. She loves the humans. Why would She want them destroyed so her First born can kill each other?

He’s just across the street from his shop when He feels three Archangels approaching but he isn’t expecting to be accosted. He looks up to see Michael, Uriel and Sandalphon.

“Hello, Aziraphale.” Michael says. As the three back him up into the mouth of the alleyway behind him.

“Oh, Michael, Uriel, Sndalphon. Hello, um…” Aziraphale swallows. He feels sick. They don’t feel like love or anything positive. They feel like danger and hate.

“We’ve just been learning some disturbing things about you – you’ve been a bit of a fallen angel, haven’t you? Consorting with the enemy…” Michael says trailing off as Aziraphale interrupts.

“I – I – I haven’t been consorting. Just exchanging information. Trying to stop all this from happening.” Aziraphale tries to justify but even his justification sounds traitorous.

“You know how we treat traitors in wartime?” Sandalphon asks coldly. It has always been so cold to its fellows.

“I’m not a…” Aziraphale tries but Uriel interrupts.

“Terrible choice. Don’t think your boyfriend in the dark glasses is going to get you special treatment in Hell. He’s in trouble too.” They say.

“Aziraphale, it’s time to choose.” Michael says. He is at least giving Aziraphale a last chance to make a choice. But Aziraphale can’t take it. Not in the way they intend him to. He has to contact the Almighty.

“I’ve actually been giving this a lot of thought. The whole choosing sides thing. What I think is, there obviously has to be two sides. That’s the whole point. So people can make choices. That’s what being human means. Choices! But that’s for them. Our job, as angels, should be to keep all this working so they can make choices.” Aziraphale says. He truly had been thinking about choices. Usually his own choices but the humans choices as well. He had come up with this theory sometime around the time of the Arrangement. Humans and their choices. When did he become so human?

“You think too much.” Uriel says and Michael smiles while Sandalphon punches him in the stomach. He doubles over, the breath knocked out of him and in pained shock. The pain he can fade but the shock he cannot.

Uriel grabs him roughly and slams him against the wall of the cafe building they are huddled next to.

“You… mustn’t. Why would you do this? We’re the good guys.” Aziraphale asks fearfully.

“You’ve been down here too long.” Michael tells him.

“I have to warn you, I—I’m going to take this entire interaction up with … a higher authority.” Aziraphale warns fearfully. She had better answer him now.

“You really think upstairs is going to take your call? You’re ridiculous.” Uriel says and then they look up at the sound of the Heavenly horns sounding. “Oh this is great. It’s starting.” And all three Archangels vanish in light.

“You… b –” He can’t say it. “Bad angels.” He says instead. Now he has got to try to reach the Almighty. His brother and sister Archangels are out of control.

He heads across the street and into the bookshop closing the blinds and locking the door. He pulls away the rug and reveals the painted on communication circle. He gathers the candles and places them carefully and then lights them with a match. He backs up and pauses. The two way communication channels were dangerous. But there is no choice. He has to speak with upstairs.

“Hello, this is…” She would answer for Raphael but if someone else is listening they would accuse him of lying to get in touch with the higher ups. He can’t use his real name. “the Principality Aziraphale. I’m looking for… um. A Higher Authority. Is there anybody there?” He asks timidly.

He hears nothing from the communication circle but there is a knocking at the door. “We’re closed.” He yells to whomever is trying to get in. “This really is frightfully important. I’m prepared to take this all the way to the top.” He prays again. And there is light shining in the room from the circle and someone has answered. It doesn’t look like Her but She can take any form She wishes. “I need to speak with the Almighty.” He says to the light and face appearing in his circle.

“Speak, Aziraphale.” The voice says and it is not Her voice but She could have changed it at any time. She does not explain Herself to anyone.

“Is that… am I speaking to… God?” He asks hesitantly.

“You are speaking to the Metatron, Aziraphale. To speak to me is to speak to God. I am the voice of the Almighty.” 

_I know who you are you idiot. I may not have been in Heaven for any length of time in the past 6000 years but I do remember hierarchy and I outrank you… I used to outrank you._ He can’t say that.

“Well, yes. But you’re the voice of the Almighty in the same way a presidential spokesman is the voice of the president. I actually need to speak directly to God.” He explains. Patiently in his opinion for how drastic the situation is.

“What is said to me is said to the Almighty.” Metatron says and Aziraphale knows he isn’t going to get anywhere. Instead of moving up the totem pole he moved down. Even the Metatron answers to the Archangels. He may be the voice but the Archangels are her hands. “Well, Aziraphale?” Metatron asks after a pause of silence.

“I want to complain about the conduct of a couple of angels. But the important thing is, the Antichrist. I know who he is. I know where he is.”

“Good work. Well done.” Metatron says flatly, he is unimpressed.

“So there doesn’t need to be all that nonsense with a third of the seas turning to blood or anything. There needn’t be a war. We can save everyone.” Why is he even bothering? Unless the voice of God says to stop the Archangels are on the warpath. But Metatron is just as taken in by the Archangels as anyone.

“The point is not to avoid the war, the point is to win it.” Metatron says and Aziraphale feels his hope give out.

His face falls and he says nervously, “Ah. Hmm. What sort of initiating event will precipitate the war?”

“We thought a multi-nation nuclear exchange would be a nice start.” Metatron tells him.

“Very imaginative.” Aziraphale says flatly.

“You also wished to complain about the poor conduct of some angels?” Metatron asks.

“Not really much point now,” Aziraphale points out.

“The battle commences, Aziraphale. Join us,” Metatron invites.

“In a jiffy. Two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Just a couple of things left to tie up.” Aziraphale says looking around to find a way to stop this whole debacle.

“We will leave the gateway open for you, then. Do not dawdle.” Metatron says and the light fades to a soft glow.

“Jolly… jolly good… Is, um, anyone still there?” Aziraphale asks. There is thankfully no answer. He edges around the circle carefully and picks up the phone. He dials Crowley’s home phone by heart hoping against hope that he is there and will pick up.

He hears Crowley’s voice answer and he tries to interrupt but Crowley continues on his usual spiel. “I know who you are you idiot I telephoned you.” he says. But then “I know where the Anti-”

“Not now I’ve got an old friend here.” Crowley’s voice says and then the dial tone.

He doesn’t have the time to be offended as he hears a yell from behind him. Sergeant Shadwell? The next events go by too quickly to keep track. He is trying to keep Shadwell away from the transportation circle but the man insists on advancing doing what he thinks is an exorcism. He is doing a very poor job of it and it occurs idly to Aziraphale in the ensuing chaos that he had hired a very poor army if they couldn’t even exorcise a demon correctly. He feels the border of something wash over him like a waterfall and looks down. He has no words for what has just happened except for… “Oh… fuck.”

He is inside the transportation portal himself. Without proper preparation. He finds himself floating up the portal and arriving in Heaven. He stumbles his landing and hears another angel call out.

“There you are. You’re late.”

“Yes. Um. Actually I didn’t mean to be here. Yet.” he adds quickly. “Still sorting things out. On Earth.”

“Aziraphale, isn’t it? Principality, Angel of the Eastern Gate. Your whole platoon is waiting for you.” The angel. The quartermaster says.

“Aziraphale. Aziraphale. Why does that name sound so familiar?”

Aziraphale’s eyes are wide and he shrugs innocently.

“Hang on. Aziraphale. You were issued with a -”

“Flaming sword, yes, I know. It’s not my fault she was having a very bad day and I…”

“You were issued with a body. Where is it?”

Aziraphale looks down at himself. He is not wearing his corporation though his ethereal body does not look different. Oh. “I’m afraid I hadn’t actually prepared to step into the transportation portal, you see. And the body… discorporated.”

“Discorporated?” The Quartermaster asks disbelievingly.

“It was six thousand years old.” Aziraphale justifies.

“I count them all out. I count them all in again. And then you show up, late for Armageddon, no flaming sword, not even a body you pathetic excuse for an angel!” The quartermaster roars. _Be a… good… angel?_ Aziraphale’s internal mantra slows to a stop.

“I suppose I am, really, I mean… I have no intention of fighting in any war.” Aziraphale says numbly and the bustle that had been going on around them stops.

“Don’t be a coward” The quartermaster angel demands and Aziraphale wants to tell him _No. For once in my existence I’m being brave._

“You get into position right now and I won’t say anything more about the body you discorporated. We can take the sword out of your celestial wages.” The Quartermaster continues.

“I was in the middle of something important. I demand to be returned.” His voice is no longer timid. He is Raphael and they will listen to him.

“Without a body? That's ridiculous.” The Quartermaster tells him.

“It is?” Aziraphale asks. They are not bound by physical bodies.

“Obviously. What are you going to do? You can’t possess them.” The Quartermaster says and Aziraphale has a brilliant idea. After all…

“Demons can,” And they were angels once. Nothing fundamentally changed.

“You aren’t a demon. You’re an angel.” The Quartermaster says.

“How does one navigate?” Aziraphale says walking over to the giant globe in the centre of the room. The other angels watch him wide eyed and stunned. “Oh, well. I’ll figure it out.” He reaches for the globe and touches down around where London would be and is rushing through the ether.

Aziraphale can’t tell where he is. He has no eyes with which to see the physical world but he can sense Crowley next to him and he can hear him the vibration of his voice echoing through the ethereal realm.

“Aziraphale, Are you here?” Crowley asks. He sounds broken.

“Good question. Not certain. Never done this before. Can you hear me?” He asks, hoping that he is making the ether vibrate himself without a body with which to do so.

“Of course I can hear you.” Crowley says.

“Afraid I rather made a mess of things.” Aziraphale asks sadly. “Did you go to Alpha Centauri?” And the idea causes his ethereal chest to clench.

“No I… Stuff happened. I lost… I lost you,” Crowley gives a heaving sob. But then is quiet.

“I’m so sorry, Crowley. Listen to me. Back in my bookshop, there's a book I need you to get.” Aziraphale says softly, gently.

“Your bookshop isn’t there anymore.” Crowley says and Aziraphale is shocked. Not there?

“Oh?” is all he can muster. The bookshop he’s spent so much time in. Time with Crowley. All his books. And his wine. And Regency era snuff boxes. All gone.

“I’m really sorry. It burned down.”

“All of it?” Aziraphale asks knowing how numb he sounds.

“Yeah. What was the book?” Crowley asks gently.

“The one the young lady with the bicycle left behind. _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of…_ ”

“ _Agnes Nutter_. Yes.” Crowley crows. “I took it. Souvenir.”

“You have it? Oh. Look inside. I made notes. It’s all in there. The boy’s name, address, and everything else. I worked it all out. Crowley, I’m so sorry.” Aziraphale says. He should have chosen you before things went to Hell.

“No don’t…” Crowley says. “Look, wherever you are, I’ll come to you. Where are you?” Crowley asks, sounding slightly frantic.

“I’m not really anywhere, yet. I’ve been discorporated.” Aziraphale says wryly. _It wasn’t your reckless driving after all._ “You need to get to Tadfield Airbase.”

“Why?” Crowley asks.

“World ending. That’s where it’s going to happen. Quite soon now. I’ll head there too. I just need to find a receptive body. Harder than you’d think.” Aziraphale says. “Pity I can’t inhabit yours. But angel, demon. We’d probably explode. So, I’ll meet you in Tadfield and we’re both going to have to get a bit of a wiggle-on.”

“What?” Crowley asks

“Tadfield. Airbase.”

“I go that…” Crowley's voice trails off as Aziraphale is taken into the ether once again. He travels he doesn’t know how far before he finds a receptive body and lands in Haiti then in America where the gentleman on television is lying about something called the Rapture. Oh the man means it but it’s not going to happen. He tries to set them straight but he is in quite a hurry and moves on quickly. He lands eventually in a nice woman named Madame Tracy who just so happens to be the neighbour of Sergeant Shadwell. Small country.

He explains the situation and recruits Shadwell to kill the Antichrist. This way neither Crowley nor he have to soil their hands with the blood of innocents. If he can get Shadwell to go through with it. With as bungling an exorcism he isn't entirely convinced the man has ever accomplished anything for the Witchfinder Army. But he didn’t use him to kill, he used him for information. Or he had. Now it was time for his money to be put to good use.

It takes no time at all to gather the ‘Thundergun’ and get on Madame Tracy’s scooter. It goes five miles per hour. But he is free to use his miracles as he likes for now. What are they going to do? Reassign him? He miracles the bike faster. 100 miles per hour and flying. And they make it to Tadfield in record time.


	12. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of the world and Aziraphale makes a promise for tomorrow.

He reaches the airbase with the two passengers, or rather one passenger and his host, with little time to spare. Madame Tracy gets off and fiddles with her scooter until Aziraphale nudges her with a reminder of their time crunch. The two of them turn Madame Tracy’s body to face the guard and see Shadwell threatening him with his finger. Aziraphale feels like rolling his eyes. Madame Tracy actually does.

“Young man, it really is vitally important that we speak to whoever is in charge,” Aziraphale says with Madame Tracy’s mouth.

“He’s telling the truth I’d know if he wasn’t,” Madame Tracy interrupts.

“Will you please stop interrupting, I am trying to…”

“I was just trying to put in a good word…”

“I understand, but I really must…”

The guard who had been watching their back and forth confusedly interrupts with, “Will you both be quiet? I mean ma’am. I must respectfully ask you to…” And he trails off as they hear the sound of Queen playing behind them.

Aziraphale turns Madame Tracy’s body to see the Bentley. On fire. Crowley steps out of the burning car saying, “You won’t get that kind of performance out of a modern car.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathes.

“Angel. I see you found a ride. Nice dress suits you.” Crowley says and Aziraphale feels a frisson of something. This is not his corporation but Crowley still wants him.

“This young man won’t let us in,” Aziraphale tells him quietly.

“Leave it to me.” Crowley says smiling charmingly. Then he addresses the guard as, “Army human, my friend and I have come a long way. And we would appreciate if you would…” He trails off as the gate opens

“Who did that?” The guard asks and there is silence as with the ring of a bicycle bell four young children ride past. “Those kids are in trouble. But so are you people.”The guard says as he retreats to sound the alarm for intruders. Then there is the sound of an explosion from behind them.

Aziraphale knows without turning it is the Bentley. He wonders if the bookshop exploded like that. But tears his mind back to the issue at hand. Crowley is stumbling back toward the car and drops to his knees.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, not wanting to interrupt Crowley’s moment but the guard is back and he’s pointing his gun at them. “Crowley, he’s got a gun. Do something.”

“I am having a moment here,” Crowley responds, his voice harsh and broken.

“I am the nice one. You can’t expect me to do the dirty work.” Aziraphale insists. At the silence from Crowley, he turns back around. He is walking toward the shouting guard and then with a snap he is gone. Shadwell looks in amazement at his finger and Aziraphale rolls his eyes. The lout.

“Nice work on the guard,” Crowley says as he comes up behind him.

“I do hope I haven’t sent him somewhere unpleasant.” Aziraphale says worriedly. And then there are trucks approaching from inside the gate.

“I need to get over the car thing,” Crowley says quietly. “I’ll deal with them.”

“You may need to brandish your weapon, Sergeant Shadwell. We are here to lick some serious butt.” Aziraphale says. He got that wrong somewhere. He thinks as then Crowley is correcting him. Kick butt. That makes more sense.

“Come on, Angel. Let’s hitch a ride.” Crowley tells him pointing to an empty truck and Aziraphale in Madame Tracy climbs in. Aziraphale misses the Bentley. He wants to offer his hand to Crowley again but not while in Madame Tracy. And who knows if he will ever be able to not be possessing a human host. The thought makes him unbelievably sad. He should have kissed Crowley like he wanted to at… everytime he wanted to but at the bandstand specifically.

The drive is taken in tense silence. Until they come upon the four children facing off with the Four Horsemen. They all jump out after Crowley puts the truck into park and Crowley is pointing at one of the boys.

“That one.” Crowley says. “Kill him, save the world.” But Shadwell is refusing and so Aziraphale wrenches the gun out of his hands and points it at the Antichrist himself.

“You can’t just kill children!” Madame Tracy says and… she has a point?

“Maybe we should wait…” Aziraphale says to Crowley.

“For what? Until he grows up? Shoot him, Aziraphale.” Crowley shouts and he has a point.

Aziraphale nods and points the gun at the Antichrist, young Adam Young. And then comes a fight for control of the body. Aziraphale is an angel he knows how to manipulate a body but it is Madame Tracy’s body and she can wrest control from him if she wants to. He is unwilling to hurt her to maintain control. So when he points and pulls the trigger she is able to wrench the gun to point at the sky at the last moment.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t let you do it,” Madame Tracy says and Aziraphale has no answer.

“Why are you two people?” The Antichrist asks.

“Well, you see I was in my bookshop…” Aziraphale begins only to be interrupted.

“It’s not right. You should go back to being two separate people.” And all of a sudden, Aziraphale feels himself being pulled out and into a new body. His body.

Aziraphale pats himself down and then goes to stand next to his… Crowley and they watch as the children face down the Four Horsemen and that’s…

“Didn’t that used to be your sword?” Crowley asks him.

“I do believe it was,” Aziraphale says lowly and Crowley nods his head. They watch as the young lady, Pepper Adam calls her, stabs War and uses some absolutely inappropriate language for a young lady like herself. But the boys also take their turns and soon the three Horsemen are absorbed into the sword and Azrael is gone as well.

“Well, I told you it would all turn out…” Aziraphale begins but Crowley is shaking his head.

“Nothing’s over.” Crowley says. “Heaven and Hell still want their war. You, Antichrist, Adam?”

“Adam Young.” Adam agrees.

“Adam. You and your friends got together and saved the world. That’s great but it’s not over yet.” Crowley tells them all.

“Hey!” A voice interrupts. “You’re the man from the car, you have my book.” The young lady with the bicycle calls out to Crowley.

“Oi.. Book girl,” and Crowley tosses the book back at her which she deftly catches. But a slip of paper comes out of the book and flutters down for Aziraphale to snatch out of the air.

“What's going on here?” the young lady asks.

“Long story, no time.” Crowley tells her.

“Try me.” She challenges and so Aziraphale steps forward.

“You see, in the beginning, in The Garden… there was a… well, he was a wily old serpent and I was technically on Apple tree duty.” And she asked for what was going on. The only place to start a story is the beginning. He looks over to Crowley to see him shaking his head and shushing him so he trails off.

The young lady with the book stopped asking for the story though and greets Adam Young and the other children. But suddenly there is a flash of lightning and Gabriel appears followed immediately by the ground pushing up and Beelzebub arriving on the scene.

Crowley greets his superior with a mocking bow. And Aziraphale feels like strangling him. They are in enough trouble to go making it worse. When Beelzebub asks after the boy, Gabriel is the one to answer, pointing out Adam correctly.

“Adam Young. Young man: Armageddon must restart., right now. A temporary inconvenience cannot stand in the way of the greater good.” Gabriel says patronisingly.

“As to what it stands in the way of is yet to be decided. But it must be decided now, boy.” Beelzebub says and Aziraphale is thankfully the only one to notice Crowley growling.

“You both want to end the world to see who’s gang is best?” Adam asks.

“Obviously. It’s the Great Plan.” Gabriel says but Beelzebub interrupts and Gabriel looks extremely put out by it. _Take that, brother._

“I’ve got this. Adam, when this is over you’re going to get to rule the world. Don’t you want to rule the world?” Beelzebub asks leaning down into Adam’s face.

“It’s hard enough thinking of things for Brian, Pepper and Wensley to do so they don’t get bored. I’ve got all that world I want.” Adam tells them seriously. And Aziraphale gives an internal cheer.

“You can’t refuse to be who you are. Your birth, your destiny, it’s part of the Great Plan.” Gabriel says dumbfounded.

Aziraphale has a question about that. So he steps forward to stand behind Adam. “Excuse me. You keep talking about the Great Plan…”

“Aziraphale, maybe you should just keep your mouth shut.” Gabriel hisses but Aziraphale stands his ground. He is Raphael even if nobody remembers him. He will not cower in front of his younger brother.

“Only I’m not clear on this. Is that the Ineffable Plan too?” Aziraphale ignores the interruption..

“The Great Plan. There shall be a world and it shall last for 6000 years and end in fire and flame.” Beelzebub answers him testily.

“Yes, that sounds like the Great Plan. But is that the Ineffable Plan as well?” Aziraphale asks again.

“They’re the same thing, surely,” Gabriel says baffled.

Aziraphale feels Crowley step up next to him on Adam’s other side and say. “It’d be a pity if you were doing what the Great Plan said but were actually going against God’s Ineffable Plan. I mean everybody knows the Great Plan. But the Ineffable Plan. It’s ineffable. By definition we can’t know it.”

Both Gabriel and Beelzebub look baffled now. Aziraphale feels like smirking.

“But it is written,” Beelzebub buzzes confusedly.

“God does not play games with the universe.” Gabriel says and both Aziraphale and Crowley look at each other and then at him.

“Where have you been?” Crowley asks seriously.

Gabriel and Beelzebub step away to talk and despite his best attempts can’t make out what they are saying until they turn to face them again and Gabriel says, “At least we know whose fault this is.” And Azirpahale is waving happily at him.

“Young man. You were put on this Earth to do one thing and one thing only. To. End. It. You’re a disobedient little brat and I hope someone tells your father.” Gabriel tells Adam condescendingly.

“They will. And your Father will not be pleased.” Beelzebub chimes in.

They both vanish and Crowley begins talking. “You know, Adam.” Adam turns to face Crowley as does Aziraphale. “I know your Father. And I’m pretty sure, no matter what those two would say, that he would be pretty proud of you.”

Aziraphale is shocked. Crowley knows Lucifer enough to be able to say that confidently? Crowley and Lucifer, of course. Crowley is always getting commendations from Satan. From Lucifer. They must be relatively close. He’s not sure how he feels about that.

Adam is studying Crowley but so is Aziraphale. “You really think so?” Adam asks seriously.

“Pretty sure, yeah,” Crowley says and Adam smiles. “Never was one for following orders, your dad. Be a bit hypocritical of him to be mad at you for it.” Everyone pauses as the implication of that sinks in. “Now,” Crowley continues. “It’s getting late. You and your friends had best head home. Before Beelzebub comes back to yell at you some more.”

Adam smiles widely at Crowley and nods. “Come on Pepper, Brian, Wensley. Come on Dog.”

“Did you really name a Hell-hound Dog?” Crowley asks him as they gather their bikes.

“Yeah. It’s what he is.” Adam says simply and Crowley opens his mouth before he closes it and shakes his head.

Adam and his friends ride out of the Airbase as easily as they rode in and all the adults look at each other until Crowley smirks at them and they disperse.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale says and Crowley turns to look at him. “Crowley, I am so sorry.” He says “I should have listened to you. You were right. God hasn’t been speaking to anybody for… well for far too long. I should have known She wouldn’t break Her silence for a nothing Principality like me.” He feels like crying again and thinks he has spent far too many tears crying over his mistakes and lost opportunities.

Why he ever thought he meant something to Her for Her to want to talk to him he will never know. She stole everything he had that made him happy. And Her Plan trapped him in a Hell of his own making. Without his lover, falling for another demon, not being able to have either of them. But that’s over with now. He’s turned his back on Heaven. And on Her. She can Fell him if she wants, they are going to come after them, somehow. And he doesn’t want any regrets when they do.

Crowley meanwhile has approached him silently and not breaking eye contact with him, raises his hand to press a kiss to the back. “Let’s get back to London.” Crowley says gently.

Aziraphale nods and steps to the side so they can walk back to the village. But then he thinks of his sword and “Oh.” Aziraphale stops and Crowley, still holding his hand, stops too. “The Horsemen. Their artefacts. We should probably take them with us. Someone will be by to pick them up but we wouldn’t want them to fall into the wrong hands.”

Crowley just nods tiredly and together they turn around and with a snap of Crowley’s fingers there is a box to place them in. Aziraphale picks up his sword feeling the familiar heft of it in his hands and gives it a swing before sheathing it. It doesn’t feel right to hold it anymore. Not that it ever truly felt right in his hands. Crowley has the scales and crown. They come back together and reach out to link their hands together and make the trip back to the gates and the smouldering remains of the Bentley.

“I am so sorry about the Bentley, my dear,” Aziraphale says sadly.

“It’s a car. I only brought it so I could take you home with me.” Crowley says and Aziraphale smiles and squeezes his hand. They make their way slowly into Tadfield proper and to the bus stop. They sit with the box of artefacts between them. And Crowley miracles up a bottle of wine and they sit in the darkening evening sharing a bottle of wine. Soon the International Express driver has picked up the box and the sword that Aziraphale was sitting on. And then Crowley is moving to sit just next to him and rests his hand high on Aziraphale’s thigh. Aziraphale does not remove it. He has never removed it but this time, he lets it there without panic or fear. But he does still want.

“Oh. There it is,” Aziraphale says pointing out the bus making its way toward them. “It says Oxford on the front.” He says confused.

“He’ll drive to London anyway. He just won’t know why.” Crowley says confidently.

“I should have him drop me at the bookshop.” Aziraphale says softly.

“It… it burnt down. Remember?” Crowley asks softly, his hand squeezing his thigh softly.

Oh, he had forgotten that, in the rush.

“You can stay at my place, if you’d like.” Then they are boarding the bus to Oxford – London. 

Once seated Aziraphale takes Crowley’s hand and places it in his lap. The ride is silent. Crowley nodding off next to him or at least resting by closing his eyes. He spends the time thinking about all that had happened that day. Their fight just last night. And then being accosted by the Archangels and talking to the Metatron. Even being discorporated and then possessing Madame Tracy and flying to Tadfield were just this afternoon. The bus drops them at the door to Crowley’s building in Mayfair before it turns around and heads back to Oxford.

Crowley welcomes him into the flat and snaps to clean up the remainder of some demon on the floor and Aziraphale cleans up the thermos of holy water silently.

“What do you imagine our people are going to do to us?” Aziraphale asks as he sits on the uncomfortable sofa and Crowley shrugs. “I’ve got Agnes Nutter’s last prophecy here.” He pulls the scrap of paper out and silently reads to himself, ‘When all is sayed and all is done ye must choose your faces wiseley, for soon enouff ye will be playing with Fyre.’ Then he says, “I’m pretty sure they are going to try to destroy us. Choose our faces wisely. Though. I just… don’t know.”

Crowley is silent before saying, “I think your side is going to try to get a hold of Hellfire.”

“Then your side will want Holy Water. Do you think they would share like that?” Aziraphale asks nervously.

“I think it’s quite possible. Even probable. They are both desperate to get rid of a couple of traitors. It’s the choose your faces wisely bit that I don’t get. We can’t change our faces, can we?” Crowley asks plainly.

“I have an idea about that actually,” Aziraphale says. “I was thinking, on the bus, about how I was able to possess that nice Madame Tracy. If we were to try to possess the other we would probably explode like I said earlier. But if we do it at the same time… well then, maybe we can switch our bodies.” Crowley is silent for long moments until finally Aziraphale asks hesitantly, “Should we give it a try?”

“I suppose we should.” Crowley answers and Aziraphale reaches out to take Crowley’s hand into his own. Then they are flowing, pouring past each other slipping over and around each other. Soon enough only a moment has passed and Aziraphale is looking at his own face and his own storm blue eyes.

“It worked,” Aziraphale says with a huge smile on Crowley's face. And then Crowley is mirroring the smile on his own face.

“It worked, Angel. You are a genius.” Crowley says and Aziraphale flushes with the praise.

“Oh, you,” Aziraphale says bashfully. Crowley's smile softens and Aziraphale feels his own thumb brush against the skin of Crowley's wrist and he looks down at their joined hands and, “Oh,” he breathes out.

“Angel, are you still afraid?” Crowley asks quietly.

Aziraphale takes a moment to think it through. Is he afraid? And if so of what? He has defied Heaven. He doesn’t care if She Fells him. He just wants Crowley and Lucifer. But which of them can he have? And does he dare try for Lucifer? Could he hurt Crowley like that? To string him along for 6000 years and then say no I have my sight set on someone bigger? No. No Lucifer doesn’t remember him. Crowley is here and wanting him as well. And Her Plan for him. He already defied the will of Heaven to save the Earth with Crowley. He might as well defy Her Plan for him to be with Lucifer as well. He can give him up. It’s been 6000 years after all and it’s a dull ache in his chest. He shakes his head to tell Crowley he is not afraid.

“Are you ready to say yes to me?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale looks up to meet Crowley's gaze. “Crowley,” he whispers. “Wouldn’t it be strange in these bodies? Just hold me tonight. And tomorrow when we’ve made it through this. I’ll say yes then.”

Crowley gives a small sigh before he pulls Aziraphale to his feet and leads him down the hallway. Aziraphale feels his desire pick up and gives a whimper. Crowley ignores it and instead says “If we are going to be cuddling all night, I want to be comfortable.” He opens the door at the end of the hallway and Aziraphale gets his first look at Crowley's bedroom. Spacious is what he thinks first. And decadent. A large bed decked in red silk.

Crowley pulls him into the room and softly shuts the door and then backs him up to the bed. Aziraphale jumps as the back of his legs hit the bed. Aziraphale turns his head to look back at the bed and then back to Crowley nervously. He did say to wait another day, despite his desire not wanting to wait. But it would be odd to make love to his own body.

“Hush, Angel. Just to hold you, yes?” Crowley croons. And crowds into Aziraphale until he sits on the edge of the bed. Crowley's hands come up to tangle in Aziraphale’s now red hair, petting and massaging at the scalp. And Aziraphale melts, tilting his head back and eyes slipping closed.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmurs.

“Yes, Angel?” Crowley asks softly. But Aziraphale can’t find it in him to answer as he is guided to lay back on the bed and sinks into it like sinking into a cloud. He feels his legs being lifted and set in the bed and hums low in his throat and sighs as Crowley’s deft hands remove his shoes and socks. Gently he feels the bed dip on the other side of the bed. Aziraphale feels his hand being taken and his own soft lips running over the soft flesh of his hand. A kiss to each knuckle and each fingertip. Kisses pressed against the palm and inside of the wrist. Aziraphale sighs and opens first his eyes and then his arms and Crowley crawls into them. Aziraphale wraps his arms gently around Crowley's shoulders and runs Crowley’s own elegant hands down his arms and sides.

“Take off my coat, love?” Aziraphale asks softly. And Crowley sits up to slowly slide out of the coat and hangs it gently over the side table. “Come back down here?” And Crowley goes willingly. Aziraphale runs his hands over Crowley’s sides and hips and tangles in his own blond hair.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale asks nervously, “Kiss me?” His hands are shaking against Crowley’s sides and grips at the waistcoat and shirt to steady them.

Crowley leans over him and gently cups his face in one hand and supporting his weight on his other elbow leans down and brushes his lips against his own. Aziraphale lets out a whimper and leans up trying to chase Crowley’s mouth with his own. Crowley backs away teasingly.

“Please, don’t tease,” Aziraphale whispers his eyes locked on his own lips just out of reach. “I’m sorry.” Aziraphale kisses with all the pent up passion of 6000 years of all the sorrow and heartbreak. All the desire and lust. All the love and care. It starts soft, a gentle brush of lips and deepens into a kiss of moans and whimpers, sighs and the clack of teeth. It lasts forever and a moment. When they part Aziraphale is panting from desire.

“Angel,” Crowley whispers, his lips just out of reach of Aziraphale. “We are definitely doing that tomorrow when we make it through this. I want to taste you with my own lips and tongue. I want to see you with my own eyes and feel you with my own hands.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agrees. “Yes, tomorrow. For now, let’s sleep.” And he pulls his own body down into his arms. He does not sleep and he does not think Crowley does either. He is too busy fretting about tomorrow. He is about to face Hell for the first time. And perhaps see Lucifer again only to condemn the other one he loves. He has to be Crowley tomorrow. Convince them to leave him alone. To leave the both of them alone. So he can love his second love in peace. 


	13. Bath time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale sits through Crowley's trial in Hell and takes a bath.

Aziraphale doesn’t want to move. He’s in Crowley’s arms and they have spent the night wrapped together and he doesn’t want to move. They have to though, he knows it. It doesn’t stop a whine coming from him when Crowley loosens his hold.

“Hush, Angel. It’s alright.” Crowley tells him softly.

“Crowley, it’s not alright. They are going to try to kill us and all we have is the hope that we have planned this right.” Aziraphale protests.

“I swear to you, Aziraphale. That if it looks like we were wrong, I will tear down the Gates of Heaven to get out. I will bring the walls of Hell down around their ears to find you. There is nothing that will keep me from your side but yourself.” Crowley says his voice is deadly serious. Aziraphale studies him for a long moment just taking him in, that devotion, before he nods his head.

“Don’t leave me then,” Aziraphale begs.

“Never,” Crowley says his lips brushing against Aziraphale’s. Crowley kisses him. A soft kiss full of promise not the frenzied kiss of the night before but a gentle kiss to seal his oath.

“We have to get ready.” Aziraphale says as he pulls away and Crowley kisses his way down the long column of his own throat.

Crowley hums in displeasure and sits up slightly. Aziraphale feels his eyes roving his own body and then Crowley is kissing him again quick and dirty, licking his way inside his open mouth. Aziraphale is stunned until he sees Crowley leaning over him and reaches up wrapping his arms around Crowley’s chest and turning them over so he is laying draped over his own corporation. His chin resting on his chest and arms wrapped around his torso. He feels as well as hears Crowley laugh.

“I thought you were the one saying we need to get ready?” Crowley asks laughing.

Aziraphale hums delightedly and smiles. He feels Crowley's hands in his hair and then cupping his cheek and grazing over his lips and presses chaste kisses to the questing fingers.

“I just don’t want to leave this bed.” Aziraphale admits quietly. He doesn’t. He wants to stay here with Crowley.

“Neither do I. But I would rather face this on my feet than have them come barging in here to tear us apart.” Crowley says still stroking through his hair.

Aziraphale sighs. He’s right. “You’re right.” He says letting go of Crowley and sitting up. Crowley follows him to press a kiss to his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, then to his lips.

“I could become addicted to kissing you.” Crowley says, staring at his lips and then smiling. Aziraphale matches him grin for grin and watches as Crowley suddenly bends down to pick up his shoes and socks and stares lovingly down at him as he kneels down to put the socks and shoes onto Aziraphale’s feet. His… His Crowley takes such good care of him. He knows there is a soft look on his face but now that he’s turned away from Heaven he is free to let out all his desire for Crowley. And once Hell is off his back, Aziraphale can love Crowley fully.

Crowley stands from his knelt position slowly and Aziraphale helps him put on his coat. They are ready… maybe.

“I want you to keep your head down up there, my dear,” Aziraphale says straightening the coat on Crowley’ s shoulders. “Don’t go making too many waves.” He doesn’t want to test Heaven’s resolve to kill him.

“I want you to ask them how Satan took his son’s rebellion.” Crowley asks. “Only if you get the chance to needle them. Don’t go asking for trouble. But if you do get into trouble I will come find you.” He promises. “We meet at St. James. The usual bench at the usual time. And after, I’ll wait for you in the lobby. If you don’t come back in five minutes from when I’m done, I’ll come find you.”

“Five minutes doesn’t seem like a long time.” He comments.

“I don’t want you down there any longer than you need to be without me.” Crowley says simply.

“Okay. Crowley,” His voice is shaking. “I’m scared.” He is dreading this. Going to Hell as Crowley. Maybe seeing Lucifer again only to have him condemn his love. His second love sent to death by his first. He doesn’t want to see that. To experience that. But he must to keep Crowley safe. And he wants. He wants to see Lucifer again. To know he’s well. That he’s adapted to life without him. To know if he remembers a Raphael made simply to be by his side.

“We aren’t wrong about this. Agnes Nutter is not wrong about this. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Crowley says grasping his hands and meeting his gaze.

“I’m more concerned with you, dear boy.” And it’s true. “You will be stuck up in Heaven with every angel around capable of creating Holy Water and destroying you.”

“And you will be in the midst of Hell surrounded by hellfire. But it’s going to be okay.” Crowley takes him in his arms and holds him tight. “You know how to be me and I know how to be you. We’ve known each other for over 6000 years. Better than either of our sides ever could.” Crowley’s hold on him loosens and then disappears.

“You are right. I know you are but I worry for you.” Aziraphale admits.

“I know you do but I need you to worry about yourself right now.” Crowley tells him seriously and he nods his head. Crowley takes a step back. “I had better head to the bookshop.” Aziraphale wants to scream _No! Stay with me._ But he doesn’t. He nods his head miserably and, after a kiss on the cheek, watches Crowley leave the flat.

He has hours to spend fretting until it’s time to meet Crowley at St. James. He spends the time fretting on the sofa. Fretting on the bed. Fretting in the kitchen. Fretting in the office sitting on his ostentatious throne. Fretting. He wants Crowley safe. He wants Lucifer to remember him. He wants Crowley. He wants Lucifer. He wants them both and has some suddenly very impure thoughts for an angel about the three of them together on Crowley's bed. He shakes his head to free it from visions of Lucifer behind him, his hardness pushing into his hot channel and Crowley on his knees in front of him, his mouth wrapped around his member. His body has woken up. Or more precisely, Crowley's body has woken up.

He tries to shake it off and will his arousal away but ends up making it worse. He decides to try the human way and makes his way to the bathroom and a cold shower. He stands gawking for a moment before moving into the room and undressing quickly. He turns on what he thinks is the shower and water comes from hidden spigots in the ceiling so he thinks he’s done something right. He steps in and feels the cool water running downs his body. It isn’t working. Not like he would like. It doesn’t stop the thoughts. He turns the water warmer and instead determines to fix it the only way he is familiar with.

He takes himself in hand and lets his imagination run rampant through his thoughts. He imagines Lucifer as he knew him in Heaven, long blond hair flowing behind his head as he lays upon Crowley’s red silk laden bed. He imagines Crowley hands wrapped around Lucifer’s shaft. Of himself. Climbing onto Lucifer’s lap. Of pressing against his first love while his second wraps around him from behind, guiding Lucifer into Aziraphale’s body. Aziraphale moving down until he is fully seated on Lucifer’s lap. Of Crowley’s hands wandering across his back. Of Lucifer kissing him. Of Crowley kissing him. Of Crowley moving to press in alongside Lucifer. Of… of… his thoughts stutter to a stop as his hand speeds up and he reaches his climax at the thought of having both of his loves seated inside of him. He stands panting in the shower watching Crowley’s spend running down the drain and feels ashamed. Even now, literally inside of Crowley's body he can’t put Lucifer aside enough to choose him fully. He feels sick. He used Crowley’s body for his own pleasure to thoughts of Lucifer. Angel’s don’t get sick nor do they have the urge but he feels like a very bad angel hunched over the toilet bowl heaving.

He turns off the shower after letting the water run to dispose of the evidence of his transgression and dries off with a snap and summons clothes to wear. He settles on something like Crowley but with a tartan collar, red in deference to Crowley’s chosen fashion preferences. And then it is time to leave. He doesn’t have the time to walk so he will have to get a cab. He makes it downstairs and sees the Bentley, recovered and without any sign of damage. Crowley will be so pleased. He hails a cab and they make their way to St. James.

Aziraphale arrives first and sits fretting but Crowley is right on time and the two of them wander the park and join the queue for the ice cream. They are at the front and Aziraphale orders a “Strawberry lolly and a vanilla with a flake.” and hands over the money. He feels as much as sees Crowley orbiting behind him, watching. They both feel the angels and demons swarming the area. The question is when will they strike.

“How is the car?” Crowley asks and Aziraphale takes joy in telling him.

“Not a scratch. How’s the bookshop?”

“Not a smudge. Not a book burned. Everything back just as it was. Have your people been in touch?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale shakes his head. “Yours?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you understand what happened yesterday?” Aziraphale asks for something to do.

“I understand some of it. But some of it is just…” Crowley trails off and another voice answers.

“INEFFABLE.” Death. Death is here.

“Yeah see that’s meant to be… that’s meant to be bad luck. That’s meant to be bad luck.”Aziraphale says turning to look at… no one. He’s gone. Crowley’s gone. He sees him being dragged away by angle and runs sprinting after him. Until one of the tourists asks what’s wrong and he feels a blow on the back of his head. He looks around to see demons surrounding him and Crowley being bundled in a truck.

“Nothing. Everything’s tickety-boo.” He mumbles and then he knows nothing.

He wakes up in a cell. It’s dark and grimy and there are two demons standing by the door. His hands are tied in front of him. They haul him up roughly and he hears Beelzebub’s voice call out. “Bring in the prisoner!”

And he follows the two demons down a dimly lit hallway and into a room with a bathtub, they were right about the Holy Water it would seem, and Beelzebub, Hastur, and Dagon. Aziraphale takes a deep breath to prepare and in disappointed relief that he will not, it seems, face down Lucifer.

“Hey guys. Nice place you’ve got here.” He says.

“Not for you it won’t be.” Hastur says maliciously.

“Could do with some plants. Maybe a coffee table.” Aziraphale says cockily Crowley is always cocky.

“Silence.” Beelzebub says. “The prisoner will approach.”

“Love to.” Aziraphale says as he steps forward between Hastur and Dagon. “So. Four of us. Rubber of bridge? Barbershop quartet?” he offers.

“The trial of a traitor?” Beelzebub says.

“Lord Beelzebub you are…” He trails off.

“I’m the judge”

Aziraphale nods knowingly and looks to Hastur.

“I am the prosecutor.” Hastur tells him.

“And so Dagon here is defending me?” He asks doubtfully.

“’Fraid not. I’m just here in case there is anything you’ve done that they’ve forgot.” Dagon says joyfully.

“But we built this place for you specially. It will be your place of trial and it will be your place of destruction.” Beelzebub offers vindictively.

“Guys. You shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble. What appears to be the problem?”

“Duke Hastur would you like to begin?” Beelzebub offers and so he does.

Aziraphale tries to pay attention but it seems to be mostly Hastur using the time to air his personal grievances against Crowley and frankly Aziraphale doesn’t care. But when he hears Hastur shout, “And the murderer of a fellow demon, a crime I saw with my own eyes.”

“Is there anything I can say in my defence?” Aziraphale asks expecting a no.

“That’s a very good question,” Hastur says.

“Objection it’s a stupid question. There is nothing you can do or say. You’ve done it all.” Dagon says.

“Objection sustained.” Beelzebub announces. “Well, Creatures of Hell. You have heard the evidence against the demon Crowley. What is your verdict?” Beelzebub asks and Crowley turns to face the wall of demons behind him.

“Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!” Rings out through Hell and Aziraphale just blinks his eyes behind his glasses.

“Do you have anything to say before we take our vengeance on you?” Beelzebub asks.

Aziraphale shrugs a bit. “What’s it going to be then? An eternity in the deepest pit?”

“No something much worse. Letting the punishment fit the crime.” Hastur says.

“Send for the Method of Execution!” A smallish demon who has been acting as the usher says.

And the lift doors ding open and Michael comes toward them from the elevator with a jug of water. “The Archangel Michael? That’s… unlikely.” Aziraphale says. Not that they wouldn’t send Holy Water but that Michael himself would be involved is. Unless… They aren’t telling the rest of Heaven what they are doing to him. They are keeping his execution a secret. Those… well. He already said fuck once. He may as well go all in now. Those Bastards!

“It’s diplomacy. You ought to approve of that. Cooperation with our old enemies.” Dagon tells him.

“Oy. Wank-wings. You brought the stuff?” Hastur says insultingly.

“I did. I’ll be back to collect it…” And Michael offers the jug of water but the demons take a step backward collectively.

“You um… ought to do the honours. It’s just, I’ve seen what that stuff can do.” Hastur says backtracking.

Michael steps next to the bathtub and pours. And pours. And pours until the tub is mostly full of Holy Water and the jug finally stops pouring.

“That’s Holy Water.” Aziraphale says for something to say.

“The Holiest, yes.” Michael says.

“It’s not that we don't trust you, Michael, but obviously we don't trust you.” Beelzebub says. “Hastur. Test it.” Xe commands. And Michael makes his retreat away and up to the elevator.

Hastur makes his way over to the usher and picks him up by his tail and carries him over to the bathtub of demon acid.

“What? What did I do?” the usher asks frightfully.

“Wrong place. Wrong time.” Hastur says as he lowers the usher into the tub. And Aziraphale wonders idly what makes him different from Crowley.

Aziraphale watches impassively but with wide eyes behind his glasses as the usher dissolves completely. Holy Water leaves no residue. They planned that for Crowley. If they hadn’t figured it out, Crowley would be the one here about to die like that. With a scream.

“Demon Crowley, I sentence you to extinction by Holy Water. Have you anything to say?” Beelzebub asks.

“Well, yes.” Aziraphale takes a deep breath. “This is a new suit and I’d hate to ruin it. Would you mind if I took it off?”

“Keep making jokes, funny man.” Hastur says but Aziraphale is already shucking his coat and tie.

He pauses. “Was that a no?” He asks, reaching down for his shoes. Aziraphale continues down to Crowley’s under shirt, boxers and socks. Then he goes to climb into the tub. The demons watch him go. Aziraphale pauses before climbing in. sitting on the edge of the tub and turns back to Beelzebub and smirks. “What _did_ Satan think of his son’s rebellion?” he asks, smirking evilly. Beelzebub gives a cry of rage and charges him pushing him back and into the tub. He lands with a splash which sadly misses any of the demons. He goes under for a moment before surfacing.

Aziraphale takes the time in their shocked state to rearrange himself comfortably with his feet hanging out the tub. He splashes around a bit in a show of carelessness and throws water at the demon’s through the hellish glass. The water makes pockmarks on the floor where it lands and the hiss and sizzle of Hell disintegrating is a nice backdrop to the shocked silence.

“I don't suppose anywhere in the nine circles of Hell there is such a thing as a rubber duck? No?” He shakes his head pityingly and laughs.

Beelzebub, Dagon, and Hastur look miserable. The other demons look horrified and Aziraphale is having the time of his life.

“He’s gone native. He isn’t one of us any more.” Beelzebub says to xirself. But Aziraphale hears xir. And smiles and waves and splashes more Holy Water out at the assembled demons.

“So, you’re probably thinking, ‘If he can do this, I wonder what else he can do?’ And very, very soon, you’re all going to get the chance to find out.” Aziraphale threatens.

“He’s bluffing. We can take him. One demon against the rest of Hell. What’s he going to do?” Hastur asks and Aziraphale wants to kill him. He’s a smart one. Even if he is an idiot.

“Shut it! We have to get him out of here. He’s going to cause a riot.” Beelzebub says panicking slightly. “What are you all looking at? Nothing to see! Nothing to see here!” Xe shoos them all away and the demons leave.

Aziraphale hears the elevator ding and Michael makes his way back with the empty jug of Holy Water.

“I came to bring back the… OH LORD!” He exclaims at seeing Crowley’s undressed body soaking in the Holy Water.

“Michael! Dude! Do us a quick miracle, I need a bathtowel.” Aziraphale asks. _Frivolous miracles indeed._ Michael doesn’t hesitate to miracle up a fluffy white bathtowel and hand it to Aziraphale who takes it and leans over the lip of the tub.

“I think it would be for the best if I were to be left alone in the future. Don’t you?” Aziraphale asks condescendingly. And Beelzebub and Dagon nod. Hastur nods and, when Aziraphale looks over to Michael, Michael nods. “Right.” And he smiles and winks. Aziraphale climbs fully out of the tub and dries off taking his time to be sure he is completely dry and then gets dressed once again putting his glasses on last. He didn’t see Lucifer. And judging by Beelzebub’s reaction, he hadn’t done what Beelzebub thought he would. He isn’t sure if he is disappointed or not. But it means he can get on being with Crowley and push Lucifer from his mind.

He leaves Michael standing stunned with Beelzebub, Dagon, and Hastur as he makes his way to the elevator and to the ground floor. When the doors open he sees Crowley waiting for him. He steps forward and Crowley offers his hand and Aziraphale takes it.

“Now that was playing with fire,” Aziraphale says under his breath.

They make their way to the nearby Berkeley Square gardens and claim a bench. They just bask in the freedom for a moment before Aziraphale asks, “So, do you think they will leave us alone now?”

Crowley pauses a moment to think. “At a guess, they will pretend it never happened.”

“Right. Is anybody looking?” Aziraphale asks and Crowley puts his hands to his temples and says eventually.

“Nobody. Right. Swap back then?” And Crowley holds out his hand and Aziraphale takes it. Holding it tightly in his own. And they are moving, slipping past one another. They both shake out their bodies in an attempt to settle themselves into their corporations but neither lets go of the others hand.

“A tartan collar? Really?” Crowley asks.

“Tartan is stylish.” Aziraphale protests. “So, Agnes Nutter’s last prophecy was right on the money.” He smiles conspiratorially. “I asked them for a rubber duck. And made the Archangel Michael miracle me a towel.” He laughs. Finally a free laugh openly and with Crowley laughing next to him. “I also did ask them what Satan thought of his son’s rebellion.”

“And?” Crowley asks, smiling.

“They didn’t answer. They just sort of went pale and growled at me to get in the tub.” He laughs again louder.

They pause for a long time while their chuckles die down. He is sitting openly with His Crowley and he is laughing. And happy. 

“Can I tempt you to a spot of lunch?” Crowley asks eventually.

“Temptation accomplished.” Aziraphale says and his whole body wiggles as his wings try to flutter.

“Where to?” Crowley asks once they are standing and they are holding hands once again.

“How about the Ritz? I believe a table to two has just opened up.” Aziraphale says, squeezing Crowley’s hand and Crowley nods.

“Anywhere you like, Angel. My treat.” And together they walk to the Ritz and Aziraphale’s miracle is still in effect because their table is still free. Once seated Crowley orders their most expensive champagne.

“I like to think none of this would have worked out if you weren’t, at heart, just a little bit of a good person.” Aziraphale muses and Crowley smiles.

“Or if you weren’t, deep down, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing. Cheers.” Crowley raises his glass. “To the world,” He toasts.

Aziraphale clinks his glass against Crowley’s and says, “To the world.” And what they both mean is to you and me, to us.

Aziraphale talks. He tells Crowley about the trial and about his travel around the world to find a host to inhabit and their food comes and he goes silent. As silent as he ever is with food. And Crowley pays like he said he would. They leave the restaurant peacefully. And once on the pavement outside Crowley turns to him and smiles A smiles full of love and devotion and adoration.

“Your place or mine?” Crowley asks and Aziraphale feels a blush overtake his cheeks.

“Yours is closer, my dear.” And it’s not really a lie but it is the only place with a bed and Aziraphale would rather be comfortable for this. Crowley offers his hand and Aziraphale takes it and together they make the trek to Mayfair. Aziraphale has made his choice. Lucifer was never really an option after all. But Crowley. He’s here warm and alive in his hand and he wants him too. 


	14. Finally Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale finally says yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is porn. Plain and simple.

The walk to Mayfair is silent. Aziraphale is… not nervous, anticipatory. He wants this. He does. But his mind flashes back to wanting Lucifer as well as Crowley and fears that something in the flat will give him away will tell Crowley what he had done with his body before meeting him in St. James park. But they reach the flat and Crowley pulls him gently through it and into the bedroom. Aziraphale stops in the doorway after the door is closed behind him. And fidgets nervously. Crowley. It’s going to be Crowley. No second guessing himself. Lucifer is gone. Now and forever out of reach.

Crowley steps forward to turn down the bed and turns to look at him. His nerves must be on clear display because Crowley says softly, “Angel…” He pauses. “Are you sure? We don’t have to.” He says gently.

“I want to,” Aziraphale says firmly. No second guessing. No taking it back. Crowley loves him in a way that Lucifer no longer does. And Aziraphale wants.

“What if you Fall?” Crowley asks nervously.

“Then you’ll catch me.” Aziraphale says and means it. Crowley wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. He’ll be there to pick up the pieces. Whatever pieces there are. He always is.

“Angel,” Crowley says softly and approaches him. Crowding him against the closed door and Aziraphale backs up to lean against the door. Crowley’s hand comes up to cup his cheek gently and then Crowley is kissing him tenderly.

Aziraphale’s hands come up to rest on Crowley’s waist and Crowley smiles into the kiss. “Let’s get you out of those layers,” Crowley says lasciviously.

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathes and finally he can say yes. He can give voice to the words that have so long been trapped behind his teeth. And he wants to give a little bit back. But still. He had loved the tender affections that Crowley had paid to him when he tried so hard to seduce him. He wants that again.

Crowley pushes the vintage coat from his shoulders and gently sets it on the dresser beside the door. And then his waistcoat follows and his bow tie is undone. Crowley unbuttons his shirt and kisses his way down his torso until he is on his knees looking up at Aziraphale.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale begins, “Will you…” he trails off and shakes his head ashamed to ask for such a thing.

“Anything,” Crowley says from his position knelt before him and then he is standing up and resting his hands on either side of Aziraphale’s head, trapping him securely against the door.

“Will you…” he swallows. “Seduce me? Like you’ve tried to do before.” Aziraphale asks quietly. This is Crowley after all. He won’t judge. He loves him. Still he keeps his head down ashamed. He shouldn’t need Crowley to do that for him. He should be able to say yes, unequivocally yes.

One of Crowley's hands comes up to cup his chin and brings his gaze up to meet Crowley's. “It would be my pleasure to seduce you, Angel.” Crowley says seriously. “Like Egypt,” and Crowley presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Like Rome,” a kiss to the cheek. “Like those ghastly suits of armour.” And a kiss to his neck just under his ear. Aziraphale tilts his head away giving access to his neck. His heart is full to bursting already and Crowley’s only at the 500’s. “Like 1349,” Crowley continues, brushing his lips over the pulse point of his neck. “Like Spain,” a hand tangles in his hair. “And Italy,” Aziraphale feels Crowley’s teeth bite into his neck and gasps in desire. “Like the Globe. Go-Somebody I wanted to ravish you then.” Crowley sucks and worries the skin until Aziraphale knows there will be a mark and he whimpers. Claiming him. Crowley is claiming him. “Like the Bastille. You looked so beautiful in those chains, my angel.” Crowley grasps his hands and pins his hands above his head. Aziraphale swallows lightly and his breathing is shallow. “Like your shop in 1800.” Crowley presses a kiss to his right wrist. “In 1941.” And a kiss to his left. “6000 years I’ve wanted you, Angel. My Angel.”

“Yours,” Aziraphale whispers back breathlessly. Crowley. A choice made forever.

Crowley lets out a low growl that makes Aziraphale’s heart skip a beat. Crowley pulls Aziraphale swiftly but not violently away from the door by his grip on his wrists and pushes him against the bed, encouraging him to sit. Slowly, Crowley helps Aziraphale to remove his shirt and lets the fabric pool on the floor and drops to his knees. He removes Aziraphale shoes and socks and presses light kisses to the arches of his feet and his ankles. He sits up straighter and runs his hands up Aziraphale’s thighs but stops halfway up. Aziraphale doesn’t want him to stop but Crowley asks him to, “Lie back,” before he can tell him so.

Aziraphale complies with Crowley’s request but his hands find their hand into Crowley’s brilliant red hair. Crowley presses a quick kiss to the inside of his clothed knee before he stands up and stalks his way up and over Aziraphale leaning over him and slotting himself between his thighs. Crowley leans down pressing gentle kisses to Aziraphale’s soft stomach and chest. Aziraphale feels him lick lightly at his nipple and his head falls back as he continues to suck and worry it. Then moving on to the other, he can’t hold back his gasps and moans of pleasure.

“Budge up,” Crowley says, picking himself off Aziraphale so he can move. Aziraphale pauses at the sudden ceasing of pleasure and blinks before his head clears and he notices Crowley’s smirk. Crowley's words finally register and he moves to lay down properly in the soft bed.

Then he turns to Crowley for more direction and sees him begin stripping out of his own clothes, swaying to hypnotize. And Aziraphale is, he can’t take his eyes from Crowley, watching his hands trail down to undo the buttons so his waistcoat and then his shirt taking them off and letting the fabric fall to the floor. Crowley’s hands trail his own body and he stops to give his nipples a pinch and groans loudly.

Crowley's hands finally reach the waistband of his jeans and pause. Aziraphale is hardly breathing the anticipation getting the best of him. Slowly, Crowley lets the button pop open and slips his way out of the tight fabric. Aziraphale is staring. He knows he is but the sketches from Leonardo’s workshop could never so full justice to Crowley’s form. Crowley swaggers up to the bed and climbs on kneeling with his knees to either side of Aziraphale's hips. Crowley leans down to kiss him and Aziraphale sits up to meet him. His hand tangles in the back of Crowley's head holding him there for long moments while he kisses him.

Aziraphale can’t help the sigh that comes from his mouth when they part. Crowley sits up and moves to settle between Aziraphale's legs with a smile and Aziraphale spreads them open to let him.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says and Crowley smiles as he leans down to drape himself over Aziraphale and press brief kisses to his cheeks and lips.

“Are you properly seduced?” Crowley asks teasingly. “Or do I have more work to do?”

“I’m seduced,” Aziraphale says tilting his head as Crowley sucks another mark into the junction of his neck and shoulder.

Crowley hums in satisfaction. “Are you sure? I can do so much more seducing.” He says letting the flesh in his mouth go.

“Another time. I want you.” Aziraphale says, his hands tangling in Crowley's hair and tugging him up to kiss him. Crowley moans as Aziraphale kisses him before he pulls back after long moments spent just exchanging kisses.

“How do you want this tonight? Anything you want.” Crowley asks and Aziraphale pauses.

“How do you mean?” Aziraphale asks, confused.

“I mean do you want to have me or should I have you? Would you like it cruder?” Crowley murmurs against the skin of Aziraphale's chest.

Must you?” Aziraphale asks breathily as Crowley nips at the skin of his chest.

“Oh, I must. I must.” Crowley teases.

“Very well. How do you mean, dearest?” Aziraphale gasps as Crowley attaches his mouth to his nipple and bites down gently before pulling off.

“Would you like to fuck me or can I fuck you?” Crowley asks, blowing gently on the pebbled nub he had previously been assaulting.

“Oh,” Aziraphale moans, clutching at Crowley's head and shoulders. “Both? Both sounds good. I want everything with you.”

“Very good answer. But which first?” Crowley asks moving back up to be at eye level and meet Aziraphale's gaze.

“I… I don’t know. You choose. I want what you want.” Aziraphale says. Too many choices. He can’t make up his mind.

“I would very much like to have you.” Crowley says keeping and meeting Aziraphale’s gaze. Aziraphale nods his head yes. Crowley smiles as he leans down to kiss him again. “I’ll make this good for you, Aziraphale.”

“I know you will, Crowley.” Aziraphale says fondly as Crowley’s hands wander down to the button of his trousers and expertly undoes the buttons. Crowley peels the trousers and pants down Aziraphale’s legs until Aziraphale is as bare as Crowley. Aziraphale feels himself hardening.

Crowley then moves down the bed until his face is level with Aziraphale’s member and meets Aziraphale’s gaze. Aziraphale knows what’s coming but when Crowley licks a quick strip from base to tip his head drops back with a groan. He feels Crowley's hand close around him and his mouth licking and sucking at the head of his… oh lord his c-cock. He can’t help the gasps and mewls that fall from his lips as Crowley continues his treatment on his member. This is better than he ever imagined it. The feeling of Crowley’s mouth around him is better than his imagination could have ever thought up.

When Crowley’s mouth moves down to swallow more of his member, Aziraphale's hands come up to grasp at Crowley’s head and his hips give an involuntary thrust as he cries out in pleasure. He can feel the head of his… his cock hitting the back of Crowley's throat. And Crowley moans and the vibration up his shaft causes another cry of delight to fall from his open mouth as his head is thrown back.

Crowley pulls off with a wet pop. Aziraphale only notices the beautiful wet heat is gone and whimpers.

“Roll over, Angel. I want to do something with you.” Crowley tells him.

“You weren’t doing something just now?” Aziraphale asks, still dazed at the abrupt stop of something so pleasurable.

“I think you’ll like this. I did promise to make this good for you.” Crowley teases.

Aziraphale grumbles good naturedly and smiles at him and obediently turns onto his stomach, cushioning his head on his crossed arms. Crowley is then manhandling him, lifting his hips to place a plush pillow beneath them and Aziraphale continues his grumbling.

“Now what on Earth are you doing back there?” Aziraphale asks confused, craning his neck to see.

He notices Crowley’s smirk as he hums noncommittally. Then Crowley is nuzzling at the round curves of his arse and parting the globes of his cheeks. Aziraphale is confused. On some level he knows what is coming but, Crowley can’t really be about to… Aziraphale jumps at the first touch of warm tongue against his entrance and gasps. Crowley doesn’t stop lapping and nipping at his hole. Aziraphale is in Heaven. The warmth of the questing tongue against the sensitive flesh feels divine. Soon the tongue is pushing in and he feels the muscle probing deeper and deeper. He is a mewling mess of angel. Squirming at the feel of the slick appendage in his arse thankful that Crowley does not let his squirming dislodge him. Soon Crowley is spearing, thrusting his tongue in deeper in quick succession and Aziraphale is thrusting back on the tongue in his arse. He thinks idly, _he’s f-f-fucking me with his tongue._

Aziraphale then feels something harder than a tongue probing at his entrance and huffs a breath as the finger is slowly inserted next to the tongue. Aziraphale thrust back harder and Crowley backs away. And Aziraphale gives a whimper of loss.

He hears Crowley chuckling lightly. “I told you, you would enjoy this.”

“Crowley, please.” Aziraphale begs. _Don’t stop. Please don’t stop._

“Shh,” Crowley hushes and nuzzles at the base of Aziraphale’s spine. Aziraphale feels a nip at the globe of one cheek and then the snap of the lube opening. He tenses slightly around the finger still in his arse at the feeling of the cold gel hitting his flesh but Crowley is inserting another finger and thrusting again.

Aziraphale moans again in appreciation of being full. He feels Crowley’s fingers probing as if questing for something. And that must be it as Aziraphale jerks and gives a cry. Crowley runs very gently over the spot he had found and Aziraphale squirms at the pleasure pain of stimulation there. _Too much_ he thinks. As he cries out in ecstasy. Crowley pulls out and he whimpers but he is back again with three fingers and thrusting gently. Dragging against that spot of too much pleasure and Aziraphale rewards him with moans and gasps and mewls, words quite outside of his ability for now.

Crowley slowly removes all three of his fingers when he is loose around them and Aziraphale whines in disappointment. “Hush, Angel. You’re ready. Turn over, I want to see your face.” Crowley says gently and Aziraphale does so slowly, feeling boneless at the pleasure he had been experiencing.

Crowley stares down at him for long moments and he looks divine. Spit slicking his chin and his hard… Aziraphale has so many words but the simplest is the crudest and he’s already being crude with Crowley why keep his thoughts pure when he wants so badly to be impure with his… his lover. Crowley’s… c-cock standing at attention and waiting to be inside of him and he wants suddenly with a burning need. And he fidgets under Crowley’s loving stare. Crowley shakes his head and smiles at him and places his hands on Aziraphale knees gently pushing them apart so he can settle between them and Aziraphale feels like a filthy tableau, his cock hard and legs spread, his hole slick and fluttering as he tenses and relaxes under Crowley’s gaze. He fights the urge to cover himself. His face or his groin he isn’t sure. His hands flutter nervously as he decides what to cover and he can practically feel the blush spreading across his face and down his chest.

Crowley climbs over him and leans down to press open mouthed kisses against his chest and up to meet his lips. Aziraphale gives himself into the kiss and gives a whine of discomfort as he feels the blunt head of Crowley’s member, his cock, pushing against his entrance. Soon his whine turns to a sigh as Crowley pushes past the entrance and settles deep in his channel.

They both pause before Aziraphale shifts his hips and moans at the feeling of Crowley moving inside him. Crowley takes another second but pulls out a fraction and thrusts back in gently.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale moans and it earns him one of Crowley’s blinding smiles. Crowley pulls out further and thrusts again and Aziraphale gives another moan. Soon Crowley is thrusting back and forth his hips pistoning hard. Aziraphale moans and whimpers and gasps in pleasure at the feeling of being full and empty and full again. The sounds of flesh hitting flesh and the slick squelch of Crowley's cock sliding into and out of his wet hole, utterly filthy and he loves it.

Crowley is pounding hard into him, he feels himself being pushed up the bed and his hands reach out for the headboard and the sheets and Crowley's shoulders to find purchase. Crowley's hands are around his hips bruising in their grip. He gives a thrust and Aziraphale feels the too much pleasure of that magical spot inside of him being brushed and cries out louder than before. Crowley's hand finds its way around Aziraphale's shaft and begins to stroke him from root to tip.

Aziraphale can’t help thrusting up into Crowley’s fist and the rhythm stutters. “Crowley,” Aziraphale moans and Crowley leans down to press a messy kiss to the side of Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Angel. My Angel. So beautiful.” Crowley mutters against Aziraphale’s throat where he is pressing messy kisses and bites to the soft flesh.

“My Crowley.” Aziraphale answers and Crowley gives a cry and comes in great spurts deep into Aziraphale’s channel. His hand stutters around Aziraphale’s member.

Aziraphale comes quickly after Crowley's cry. “Crowley,” He sighs as Crowley continues with shallow thrusts as he comes down from his high and his erection grows soft inside of Aziraphale. Aziraphale lets out a disappointed sigh as Crowley pulls out and collapses next to him. Crowley lifts his hand to lap up the angelic seed dripping from it.

They lay panting for several long moments before Crowley turns onto his side and cuddles up to Aziraphale’s side. Aziraphale feels him tracing familiar patterns in the soft flesh of his stomach and chest. He sees him mopping up his spend and licking it from his fingers.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says lowly, his hands coming up to run over Crowley's slim back and sides.

“My angel,” Crowley responds.

“I love you,” Aziraphale says seriously. It needs to be said. Now. It should have been said years before but now. Now he has made his choice now and forever.

“I know. I love you, too.” Crowley says and Aziraphale smiles widely at him.

“I know. But thank you for telling me, you old serpent.” Aziraphale teases.

“I think I need to rest before we try it the other way round.” Crowley says stretching out his spine and reaching far above his head with his long arms.

Aziraphale hum non-committally and gives a small pout. But then smiles disarmingly. “Did I wear you out?”

“I’d rather wait to see if you Fall.” Crowley answers his hands back, wandering over Aziraphale's bare chest.

“I don’t feel any different.”

“Good. I think it might be a good idea to stock up on some Holy Water in case Hell comes back.” Crowley says and Aziraphale feels a frisson of fear.

“You think they will?” He asks nervously.

“Eventually.” Crowley responds. “Just to be on the safe side. A couple more thermoses of Holy Water.”

“Then what about Heaven? How will we deal with them?” Aziraphale asks fearfully, turning over onto his side to face Crowley.

“I think we are safe that way.” Crowley says.

Aziraphale freezes. Safe from Heaven but not from Hell? “Why? What happened up there?” He asks hesitantly.

Crowley doesn’t get a chance to answer as there is a crash further out in the flat. They both freeze, their gazes meet and then stare at the closed door.


	15. Crowley? or...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth about Crowley comes out and Aziraphale makes one more choice today.

Aside from the initial crash there is no sound from the rest of the flat. Aziraphale looks at Crowley and Crowley looks back. They seem to speak without words because as one, they proceed to quietly get out of the bed and to the doorway. Crowley opens the door just a sliver and looks out. Then he looks back to Aziraphale and opens it further. Together they make their way down the hallway low to the ground with Crowley in the lead. They pause at each doorway to peek into the rooms and see nothing until they reach the parlour. Michael is standing in the room with a glass pitcher filled to the brim with water and sword at his waist. Aziraphale looks quizzically over to Crowley.

Crowley shrugs and stands up. Aziraphale follows his lead but takes the first steps into the room. He isn’t going to let that Holy Water get any closer to Crowley than necessary.

“Michael, to what do we owe this surprise? I believe you agreed to leave us alone after that Holy Water didn’t work on Crowley.” Aziraphale says sounding braver than he is. Something is very wrong here. Michael is startled enough by the sound of his voice that he spills a few drops of Holy Water over the rim of the jug he is carrying as he turns swiftly to face them.

“The Holy Water isn’t for him, Aziraphale. It’s for you.” Michael responds.

“It’s not going to work. Just because he survived the Hellfire doesn’t mean he’s a demon. He hasn't Fallen.” Crowley says, his voice is worried and frantic though perhaps only someone who knows him as well as Aziraphale would be able to notice.

Aziraphale shoots him a worried glance. “He’s right. I still feel Holy. But you may test the Holy Water on me if that would make you feel more comfortable.” He takes a step forward to offer his hand to the jug of Holy Water. But Michael takes a great step backward and stumbles slightly on the corner of the coffee table next to him. Recreating the crash they had heard of the coffee tables metal legs scrapping against the stone floor.

“Stay where you are.” Michael says warningly, his free hand going to the hilt of his sword and his other placing the Holy Water down on the table next to him.

“Michael, are you quite alright?” Aziraphale says concerned.

“Stay back, demon.” Michael says again.

Aziraphale places his hands up placatingly. “I told you I’m not a demon. Why would you think I am? Just because the Hellfire didn’t work?” He asks politely.

“Because you killed them.” Michael says his voice breaking. “You killed Gabriel and Sandalphon and Uriel. It’s on the CCTV.”

“In Aziraphale’s defence, they were trying to kill him.” Crowley intervenes. Michael's hand closes on the hilt of his sword and Crowley pulls Aziraphale behind himself and readies his hand to snap a miracle off.

“He’s a demon.” Michael says again.

“I’m really not.” Aziraphale says and reaches around Crowley to dip his fingers in the coolness of the Holy Water. “See, The Holiest Holy Water and I’m not a pile of demon goo. I’m still an angel, Michael. Now why don’t you tell us what’s really going on.”

“You have to be a demon. Only a demon can control the Hellfire like you did.” Michael accuses his hand loosening on his sword hilt in confusion.

“How did Aziraphale control the Hellfire?” Crowley asks, as if he doesn’t already know.

“How?! You must have shown him!” Michael protests and his hand clenches tightly on the hilt again.

“I can assure you, I have never shown Aziraphale how to manipulate Hellfire.” Crowley promises and it’s true obviously. Only one demon can control Hellfire. Lucifer. Satan. Have to think of him as Satan. He isn’t Lucifer anymore and never will be his Lucifer again. But… Aziraphale eyes Crowley. Party tricks, Crowley had said. What does he consider a party trick?

“Why don’t you show us the recording and I can explain?” Aziraphale asks. It can’t be. His heart is beating out of his chest as Michael scoffs and pulls out her Tablet and pulls up the recording of the execution.

Aziraphale watches as he is dragged up and tied to a chair. As Gabriel comes up behind him. As Sandalphon and Uriel create a ring of runic stones of binding. As one of Legion throws Hellfire into the circle. As Legion approaches Crowley in his body. As Uriel unties him and as Aziraphale on the screen steps into the Hellfire and basks in it. And then Aziraphale on the screen steps out of the fire and with a sweep of his arm Hellfire is encircling the four figures on the screen. Aziraphale is stunned and rapt with attention. They can’t hear what is happening but they can see. They see Aziraphale moving closer with the flames slowly tightening on the group. The flame comes up between the Archangels and the Aziraphale on the screen and gets tighter and tighter until Sandalphon catches fire and in a whoosh of flame is gone. Followed closely by Uriel and finally Gabriel. It is silent in the flat but Aziraphale imagines he can still hear their screams. He watches as with a snap the Hellfire is gone and he turns to face the camera and gives a jaunty wave before straightening his jacket and walking to the elevator. And the screen goes black.

Crowley next to him sighs and says, “Angel.” As Michael takes back the Tablet.

“Not right now, Crowley.” Aziraphale bites out. He can’t with this right now. He doesn’t have time to process what that video means right now. “I understand how that looks, Michael, but again self-defence. And I’m not a demon obviously. Would you like to see my wings as well?” And he brings out pure white wings, not a scorched feather, not a hint of black, in evidence. “Now, Michael,” He says lowly, “Give me the sword.” And he holds out his hand as if demanding a small child hand over a piece of contraband.

“Impossible,” Michael says. “You… we’ve seen you. Only demons can create Hellfire.”

Crowley sighs again. Aziraphale can feel how he is getting fed up. And it scares him. For the first time in 6000 years he is truly frightened by Crowley. He hates it.

“A misconception I assure you.” Aziraphale says lowly. “Only one demon can create Hellfire. Are you sure you want to antagonize him?” _Please don’t._ He thinks. _It can’t be._

“Only one…” Michael trails off and then his eyes widen as understanding dawns on his face. “Lucifer.” He breathes out.

“Satan now. You should know that.” Crowley says condescendingly. _Toying with him. Crowley is toying with Michael before he kills him._ Aziraphale thinks in a panic.

“Crowley, enough.” Aziraphale says harshly and then cringes internally. If he’s right… But Crowley doesn’t say anything and Aziraphale spares a glance from the corner of his eye to see him smile and nod. _Why are you letting me talk to you like that?_ “But how would Lucifer impersonate Aziraphale. To destroy a couple of Archangels?” Michael asks confused.

Crowley sighs once again. “Angel.” He says and Aziraphale looks at him, _he’s fed up._ He nods.

“Michael, hand over the sword or you will find out exactly how Lucifer came to kill Gabriel and the others.” Aziraphale says and reaches out to pry Michael’s hands off the hilt of the sword. Michael tries to struggle and fight him but Aziraphale was expecting the fight and was trained to be a soldier if not made to be one and wrenches the sheath away from Michael’s waist. Aziraphale steps back with the sword before Michael can regroup as he _was_ made to be a soldier and lead the armies. Before he can blink, there is a snap and Hellfire has encircled Michael.

Aziraphale takes another step backwards and draws the sword for the first time in 6000 years. It flames immediately. He turns to Crowley. “Crowley, What are you doing?” He asks and can no longer keep the raw emotion out of his voice. He held it together when there was danger in the form of Michael but now… the only danger is Crowley.

“Michael is going to have to die, Angel.” Crowley says patronisingly turning towards him, his head is tilted downward. “He knows too much. And once the last of the Archangels is dead, Hell can take over Heaven without having to involve the humans. No apocalypse just a hostile takeover.”

“No.” Aziraphale shakes his head desperately. “I can’t let you do that, Crowley. Or are you Crowley?” He feels his throat closing up. Hie eyes are burning and his vision is blurry through the tears.

“I’ve been Crowley for 6000 years, Angel. Who else would I be?” Crowley croons.

“You tell me. You said yourself all those years ago, only one demon can create and manipulate Hellfire. Were you lying then or are you lying now? Or are you always lying?” Aziraphale asks voice wavering. His breathing is shallow and tight his chest feels constricted as if wrapped in Crowley’s coils.

“I told you the truth that night.”

“So it’s just every other night you’ve been lying to me.” Aziraphale accuses. His arms are getting heavy. He wants to put the sword away. He wants Crowley to tell him it’s all right. That there is a mistake. But there isn’t. He lied. “Were you lying today?” He asks tearfully.

“I wasn’t lying today,” Crowley answers softly.

“Show me who you really are,” Aziraphale begs. He has to see him. See if they really are the same. His Crowley and his… his Lucifer.

Crowley’s form shifts and changes. Aziraphale had the honour of watching Crowley shift into his serpent form before and this is much the same. Blending and shifting, his hair turning golden blond, his face softer in a way but still the same face, the same eyes, the same tattoo, the short hair. He hears Michael screaming from a distance as he gives a heaving sob. And the sword point drops to be nearly vertical.

“Angel,” Crowley croons again.

“No!” Aziraphale shouts. “You don’t…” He shouts then trails off. “You don’t get to call me that.” He says sadly.

“Aziraphale, talk to me.” Crowley says softly. “I had to lie to you. What would you have done that first day if I had given my real name? Even without your sword you could have smote me.”

Aziraphale shakes his head. _I would have Fallen for you._ He can’t say it. He doesn’t deserve that dedication. He lied. Everything. It was all… “Why did you spend so much time with me? You haven’t loved me since Eden.” He wants Crowley to say yes he did. He knew. He knows him. Raphael. _Please don’t keep lying to me._

“Because you intrigued me. This angel that can do no wrong. Everything that you’ve done that you should have Fallen for, and still look at you. The Avenging Angel of the Lord. You have never looked better, my angel.” Crowley says and Aziraphale can taste the truth of it. He can see Crowley growing hard at the scene before him

“I’m not yours.” Aziraphale says weakly and he knows it’s a lie. He belongs to Crowley, Lucifer, Satan twice over. Three times. By his own love twice and Her will.

“Yes you are,” Crowley smiles gently. “You’ve been mine since Eden. Since you gave away a Heavenly artefact. You even said it earlier today. Mine,” He growls the last word possessively.

Aziraphale shakes his head and Michael gives a startled cry at the advancing Hellfire. Aziraphale snaps his head to the side to see him cowering in Hellfire.

“Let him go Crow-Satan. I mean it. I’ll use this.” He lifts the sword again. He doesn’t want to use it. He…

“No, you won’t” Crowley says and then he is Crowley again.

“No. You don’t get to do that. It’s not fair.” Aziraphale cries and Crowley takes a step forward.

“Angel, my angel. Put down the sword. You don’t want to hurt me.” Crowley says taking another small step forward.

“You’ve only been trying to get me to Fall.” Aziraphale says knowing it is the truth. He… he wanted Aziraphale to Fall as much as Aziraphale wanted to Fall for Lucifer. He would have had him. He could have had everything. The room is sweltering in the Hellfire and Holy Fire of the sword. And his breathing is shallow and the tears in his eyes make the room blurry and he could have…

“You were prepared to not two hours ago. It’s still me. Just a little more to me than you bargained for. Come, Angel.” And Crowley reaches out with his hand. “I can keep you safe if you Fall. No one will fight against us. We can rule the Heavens you and I. You by my side.”

Aziraphale shakes his head desperately. “You… You lied to me.” _I could have had you!_

“I omitted truths. Yes.”

“You’ve never loved me.” Aziraphale says. Crowley, Lucifer, Satan, he only wanted to Fell an angel he couldn’t have had him. He has to tell himself that or he will break.

“I’ve always loved you.” Crowley says. “I’ve always loved you, Aziraphale. I wanted you for mine, in my bed and by my side. And we can have that. Just let me kill Michael and we can go back to bed. You can fuck me like we planned. No making you do the dirty work. Just be by my side. Just love me as I am.”

 _Michael._ The only thing standing between him and Crowley being together is Michael. Michael who patronised him. Michael who assaulted him. Michael who sent those stupid complaints. Michael who has to die.

Aziraphale gives a heaving sob, his arms dropping incrementally throughout Crowley's speech. Crowley takes another step froward. Aziraphale looks up and meets Crowley's loving gaze.

“I adore you, Aziraphale. I will never worship Her again, but you… I would worship you if you let me.” Crowley's voice is a whisper but sounds like thunder in the quiet of the room.

Aziraphale gives a great cry and raises the sword above his head. _Michael_. He has to die. Aziraphale turns to the Hellfire. _I want to Fall for you._ He plunges the sword downward and through where the Hellfire had been and into Michael's breast. Michael drops to his knees and then to the floor and golden ichor flows over the stone floor and pools beneath the Archangel.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley says into the silence and Aziraphale screams.

He is burning. Every nerve ending alight on fire. He feels his essence burning and burning and he screams. It’s the same as he felt when She tore his Archangel powers from him. A burning pain everywhere but instead of feeling empty this time he feels full he feels full to bursting with some essence. Like he is so full that he is being torn apart piece by piece and atom by atom. And he screams. He screams until long after a human body could scream. And then all at once the burning and tearing stops and he collapses in a heap his last thought before he passes out is… _Crowley._


	16. Repercussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale wakes up after Falling. And gets in good with his new boss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has more porn. Top Aziraphale this time. If you dislike that configuration feel free to skip from one line of page breaks. (~~~~~~~) to the other.

Aziraphale wakes slowly to pain. Pain in his wings specifically. He tries to move them and hisses in agony but is able to bring them around to wrap around himself and Crowley. He opens his eyes and looks around at the scorched and blackened feathers and up into Crowley’s sympathetic eyes and his wings wrapped gently around the both of them.

“Aziraphale, why ever did you do that?” Crowley whispers.

“If you want me by your side, I’m not going to be just a pretty bauble.” Aziraphale says through his tears.

“I never thought you were just pretty. I thought you were gorgeous,” Crowley kisses one tear stained cheek. “And smart,” He kisses the other. “I thought you were good,” A kiss to his nose. “And kind,” A kiss to his forehead. “I thought you were vicious,” A chaste kiss to his lips. “And not to be trifled with.” He finishes with another kiss to the lips that Aziraphale himself deepens.

“Does the burning go away?” Aziraphale asks softly once they part.

“Yes,” Crowley answers tenderly. “It goes away. You’ve been asleep for,” He looks at the clock, “three days. And the Fall took six. It’s next Tuesday now.”

“So short a time?” Aziraphale asks, it doesn’t feel like it’s been so short. But also, like it took mere moments.

“Yes, I caught you.” Crowley says simply. Aziraphale remembers briefly the feeling of something brushing his burning hand and then suddenly everything stopped. And he passed out. He could feel… Crowley.

“Tell me really, why did you kill Michael? I wouldn’t have ever asked you to do so. You would have been a kept angel.” Crowley asks gently, his hands running over Aziraphale's side as Aziraphale turns to face him, wings stretched out behind him on the bed.

“I told you. I refuse to be some…” Aziraphale trails off. “trophy you keep beside you. If you are going to rule the Heavens then I am going to rule next to you. I won’t be just some pretty little thing you bring out to play with or show off.” It’s not really a lie. He wants to be worthy of Crowley. Of Lucifer. And if he needs to kill to do so… he had gone so long without them, him, it was always just him.

Crowley hums low in his throat doubtfully but doesn’t push. “Well, My angel, aside from the burning how do you feel?”

Aziraphale pauses. How does he feel? Full. Happy. “Free.” He settles on saying with a smile.

“Free?” Crowley asks, smiling as well.

“Yes. Like nothing can touch me.” Aziraphale clarifies.

“Good. I won’t let anything hurt you. Never again. Unless you ask me to.” Crowley says seriously.

“Unless I ask you to?” Aziraphale hums questioningly. There’s a thought.

“Oh Angel.” Aziraphale flinches. It’s the second time he had called him angel. And he isn’t one. Not really. Not any more. Not that he feels all that different. “Aziraphale, listen to me. You are always going to be my angel. You are the best of all of them. Just because you chose to Fall doesn’t mean She cast you out. You had a choice unlike any of the rest of us. And that is something to be admired.” Crowley tells him insistently.

“Do you think so?” Aziraphale asks hesitantly.

“I know so, Love.” Crowley says.

Aziraphale smiles widely. Love. “I think I believe you.”

“You had better. I hear your new boss is quite the martinet about such things.”

“My new boss, hmm?” Aziraphale smiles. He hadn’t thought of that. Crowley, Lucifer, Satan was his boss now.

“Yep, though I know how you can get in good with him if you are up for it.” Crowley says lasciviously.

“And how is that?” Aziraphale teases. He has an idea. They had never finished their night together.

Crowley moves in close to whisper against his lips, “You can fuck him like you promised to nine days ago.”

“Oh you.” Aziraphale admonishes with a smile.

“Think you are up for it or should we take a rain check?” Crowley asks seriously.

“Let me put my wings away.” Aziraphale and hisses in discomfort as he tucks his wings into the ethereal plane where they are safer. “They will heal?”

“They already are. You have some beautiful white coming in already.” Crowley tells him reverently.

“White?” Aziraphale asks startled. White? Shouldn’t they be black?

Crowley hums in agreement, moving forward to kiss and nip at Aziraphale’s neck.

“Crowley, Satan.” Aziraphale begins but backs away.

Crowley chases after him for a second before sitting back up. “I’m Crowley to you, Love. I always have been. I always will be.”

 _But you haven't been. You’ve been Lucifer to me. Forever._ Aziraphale can’t say that. Crowley, Satan, doesn’t remember a Raphael. Satan. He lied to him. About… every… thing? “How many of those commendations did you really earn doing what they said you were doing?” He asks slowly.

Crowley pales.

“All of them, didn’t you?” He accuses, backing away and untangling himself from Crowley’s embrace. His breathing is picking up. He’s panicking.

 _He lied. He lied. He lied. Heliedheliedheliedheliedhelied._ He can’t breathe. Everything. He lied about everything. He killed people. He killed the babies in Egypt. He killed the Christians. He killed the heretics in the Spanish Inquisition. He killed the Jews in the Holocaust. He killed so many people. He’s the reason. His chest is heaving. He can’t breathe. He can’t get air. He doesn’t need air. Why is the room spinning? He feels hands on him but he can’t breathe. Then Crowley is there. All he can see. He hears him, his voice. He wants him to breathe. He can’t do that. Crowley wants an inhale. He can do that. Crowley wants an exhale. He can do that. Crowley wants. He can do that. He can breathe again but now his chest is still tight and the room isn’t spinning but it’s blurry. And then he is sobbing. Aziraphale feels Crowley's arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him into Crowley's chest.

“You lied to me. Everything.” He sobs out.

“I’m a demon, Aziraphale. The King of Demons. I told you I’m never nice.”

“You’re nice to me. And you saved the world. God you were trying to get me to kill your son… Your son! What?” And he is crying sobbing again. Everything has been a lie. His motives. His actions. His feelings. He never wanted Aziraphale. He wanted a trophy to lord over Her.

“I will explain everything, my Love,” Crowley says his hands moving gently over Aziraphale’s back and shoulders. “Yes, I have been trying to get you to Fall.” Aziraphale gives a heaving sob at the admission. “But only so I could have you. I love you. I’ve always loved you. But for so long, I wanted to possess you. To break you and remake you. To chain you up and never let you go. Those chains in the Bastille almost broke me. But I want you happy more than anything now. If… If you say to leave and never come back… It would break me but I would. Say the word. You can have everything in my power even if what you want is for me to go away.”

“I don’t want you to go away.” Aziraphale murmurs into Crowley's chest.

“I mean it. Anything you want.” Crowley says again.

“I want you,” Aziraphale says and he means it. He’s always wanted Crowley. Lucifer. Satan.

“You have always had me, My own.” Crowley tells him.

 _No. I haven’t. But I will._ Aziraphale thinks as he raises his head to look up into Crowley’s eyes. “Kiss me?” He whispers instead.

“Always,” Crowley answers softly before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Aziraphale's lips and lets Aziraphale be the one to deepen it. And deepen it he does. His tongue gently asking for entrance from Crowley’s lips and tangling with Crowley's own. Soon the room is full of the sounds of moans and whimpers.

“I want you,” Aziraphale says earnestly.

“You can have me,” Crowley answers and finally puts his wings away and climbs back into the bed. He lounges out, stretching and putting himself on display, and reaches out a hand to beckon Aziraphale into the bed. Aziraphale smiles and grabs hold of Crowley’s offered hand and lets himself be pulled gently into the bed and settled between Crowley’s legs. He is pulled gently down and into kissing distance and they share another passionate kiss as Aziraphale’s hands run over Crowley’s legs and hips and sides.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale grazes his hands over Crowley's toned chest and brushes his nipples causing Crowley to groan and Aziraphale to smirk against his lips. Aziraphale moves to press open mouthed kisses against the long column of Crowley's neck and bite down at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Crowley moans and tilts his head to give him more room to work. Crowley had left dark purple bruises on Aziraphale’s neck and chest. He decides to return the favour.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley moans, his hands tangling in Aziraphale’s blond curls. Aziraphale chuckles and lets go of the flesh in his mouth. He moves further south kissing down Crowley’s chest and pausing to nip and lick and suck at one dusky nipple as his other tweaks and pinches at the other. Crowley lets out a whimper and drops back to the bed head thrown back in pleasure and panting.

Aziraphale smirks again and switches sides, his mouth moving to the other side of Crowley's chest to worry at the other nipple with his lips and teeth. He spends long moments just listening to Crowley’s moans and whimpers. When the nubs are pebbled and sensitive, he pulls back and moves up to press quick and dirty kisses to Crowley's lips. Aziraphale summons the lube bottle with a snap and spreads some of the cool gel on his fingers. Slowly his slick fingers circle the rim of Crowley’s entrance until Crowley gives a whine of encouragement and Aziraphale smirks again.

“Look at you. So eager. How the mighty have Fallen.” Aziraphale croons. And Crowley’s eyes roll back in his head as the finger finally breaches him.

“Aziraphale, My Love. Please.” Crowley begs.

“Shh,” Aziraphale hushes him gently and taking pity on him, begins to move. Slowly stretching and thrusting first one finger and slowly inserting another. Crowley squirms and Aziraphale keeps thrusting leaning down to press kisses to Crowley’s stomach.

“Please,” Crowley whines. “Aziraphale, I want you. Now. Please.” And Aziraphale smiles. He is three fingers deep and Crowley is begging to be taken.

“Alright.” Aziraphale says smiling and removes his fingers from Crowley's arse. He uses more lube to slick up his throbbing member and gives a groan of his own. Slowly, Aziraphale lines himself up and pushes into Crowley’s hot channel.

“Ah,” Crowley cries out in pleasure. Once the head of Aziraphale’s cock is in he keeps pushing steadily until he is fully seated inside the King of Hell. Aziraphale pauses panting from the effort of going slowly for his new bosses sake, bent double, his head resting on Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley gives a whine and thrusts back onto Aziraphale’s cock and clenches around him and Aziraphale moans. Aziraphale gives an experimental thrust and Crowley hisses out a “Yesssss. That’s it. Please.”

Aziraphale straightens and gives another roll of his hips. His hands latch onto Crowley's hips to hold him steady and he begins to thrust. Gently at first merely rolling his hips but soon he is pulling almost all the way out and thrusting back in forcefully.

“Ah, yes. Yes. Please. More. Aziraphale, I love you. Just like that.” Crowley babbles and Aziraphale complies. Soon he is pounding into the King below him and using his bruising grip on his hips to hold him still and pull him back down onto his throbbing shaft.

Crowley gives a cry of ecstasy and his hands scramble for purchase on the silk sheets before settling for gripping at Aziraphale’s strong forearms. “Fuck. That’s perfect. You’re perfect.” Crowley's hand tries to settle around his own cock but Aziraphale brushes the hand away and grips it securely in his own hand.

Aziraphale’s fist is messy and out of sync but it is enough as Crowley gives another cry of rapture and comes spurting over his stomach and Aziraphale’s fist. Aziraphale feels Crowley’s channel clench around him as he comes and his rhythm stutters as he thrusts once more deep into Crowley's willing body and finishes spurting deeply into Crowley's channel. Aziraphale’s fist keeps stroking Crowley until he gives a whine of overstimulation and Aziraphale lets go of his softening member, pulls out himself and collapses to Crowley's side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale has his eyes closed panting from exertion when he feels Crowley's hand come up to run gently over his heated skin. His eyes flutter open and he looks over to Crowley to give a blinding smile which Crowley echoes. Crowley leans over to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s lips and Aziraphale’s hand comes up to clutch at the back of Crowley's head, keeping him in place.

“I love you, Aziraphale.” Crowley says as he backs away to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

“You can call me Angel, Crowley. I miss it.” Aziraphale admits and Crowley gives him a great smile and leans down to kiss him again.

“Get some rest, Angel. We have to head back to Hell soon.” Crowley says and Aziraphale tilts his head questioningly. He had imagined they would have to go back but, so soon? “I have to come clean about who I am to them. And I need to take care of a couple of them. Hastur for one, Dagon for another. And decide what to do about Beelzebub. Xe has been running Hell for me but xe has made me angry, talking down to my son like that.”

Ah, that makes sense. Aziraphale screws his face up in confusion. “Your son. How did that come about, Crowley?” He asks almost afraid of the answer.

“I woke up one day pregnant. I’m so sorry I had to decline all those months of generous invitations to dine with you. I wanted to join you so badly but couldn’t explain what was happening. I hated that child in those days. But I thought… we were raising him together and it made it tolerable. He doesn’t seem a bad kid but I kind of wish we had had the chance to raise him together.” Crowley admits.

“You mean She just… made you pregnant?” Aziraphale says outraged. “That’s horrible. I can’t imagine what you went through. Nine months of complete isolation. I’m so sorry you couldn’t confide in me, dearest.” He adds softly.

“It was my own fault. For lying to you for so long. After a time, I just didn’t know how to tell you, even had I wanted to. But I enjoyed being Crowley for you. Of the freedom to not have so many responsibilities weighing me down.” Crowley says.

“I’m glad you have a way out, darling. But you are right. We should probably come clean to your people. After all, how are you going to rule the Heavens if you can’t tell anyone who you are?” Aziraphale asks teasingly.

“I don't want to rule the Heavens. I just want you.” Crowley says softly.

“And I don’t want to leave your side. We’ve murdered the Archangels. If you want to take over Heaven, now is the time.” Aziraphale tells him seriously.

“I’m alright. I don’t need Heaven as long as I have you in my arms.” Crowley says sappily.

Aziraphale hums contentedly. “Please don’t lie to me again. Tell me if you can’t answer but never lie to me.” He asks sadly.

“I swear it. No more secrets.” Crowley promises.

“I don’t mind privacy but no more lying.” Aziraphale says thinking. _I need to tell him. Even if he won’t believe me._

“Everything I am is yours, Aziraphale.” Crowley says seriously.

 _I’m Raphael the Archangel. Please remember me._ The words are stuck behind his teeth. And he is quiet for long moments, the different ways to tell Crowley running through his head. And none of them making it past his lips. Finally, his hands running over Crowley’s arms he manages to say. “I killed Michael because I wanted to. He had Sandalphon and Uriel attack me, did you know? They assaulted me across the street from the bookshop. They were very bad angels.” He pauses. _I’m Raphael._ “And because I wanted you. Your people… wouldn’t appreciate having an angel as a King’s Consort. And because he would never have left us alone. If I’m going to be with you, I need to be an equal not a pet.” _I’m Raphael._

“So no chaining you to my bed and keeping you for days as my own secret?” Crowley asks teasingly but Aziraphale can sense the thread of want in his tone.

Aziraphale hums consideringly.

“Only I have the chains all set up in the Palace,” Crowley continues.

Aziraphale swallows heavily.

“Oh, Angel, the things I’ve wanted to do to you.” Crowley whispers against his neck, nipping the skin and working what must be another mark into the skin.

“Later,” Aziraphale murmurs, his head tilting to give better access and a slight moan. “Later you can tell me all about it. Now we have to get some rest and head back to Hell. So you can deal with Hastur and Dagon and Beelzebub.”

“Alright.” Crowley says around the flesh held between his teeth and pulls back. “But first, you get some more sleep.” He presses a kiss against Aziraphale’s forehead. “Falling takes a lot out of you.”

Aziraphale nods slightly before closing his eyes and allowing himself to drift off safely in the arms of his one and only love.


	17. Demonic Executions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley deal with some wayward demons in Hell.

Aziraphale wakes the next morning to gentle kisses pressed to his eyelids, nose and cheeks and he wakes smiling.

“Good morning, My own.” Crowley says delightedly.

“Good morning, my dear.” Aziraphale answers smiling widely.

“Are you ready to destroy some demons?” Crowley asks teasingly.

“Are you really going to destroy them?” Aziraphale questions seriously. It’s not that he has any problems with destroying demons but it seems harsh for a king to completely annihilate their subjects.

“They have tried my patience for 6000 years. Hastur tried to kill me. And tried to have me tortured. Dagon took much too much pleasure in seeing me laid low and, from what you told me of the trial, was more than happy to see me destroyed. Same with Beelzebub. The only reason I am thinking of sparing xir is that xe is able to rule Hell in my place and handle the paperwork that comes with it. Xe was my confidant in Heaven before the Fall. It made sense xe would continue in that line in Hell.” Crowley admits.

 _Asbeel is Beelzebub?_ Aziraphale thinks. Asbeel had been Lucifer’s aid in Heaven. It sounds like they became much closer after Raphael was forgotten. He wonders if Asbeel had taken his place in Lucifer’s life. “I see.” Aziraphale says calmly. “Then you have to destroy them.”

“They wouldn’t have dared if they knew who I was but… I didn’t want them to know before you did. They wouldn’t have understood loving an angel. They simply want to destroy them all. They wanted that war just as badly as the Archangels.” Crowley says, trying to convince Aziraphale or himself, Aziraphale isn’t sure.

“I understand,” Aziraphale says and he does. They had wronged their King even if he was in disguise. They needed to die. Their clear hatred of Crowley would invariably be put onto Satan when he is revealed. They sit in quiet contemplation soaking in the silence of being with each other, hands gently trailing sweeping irregular paths over skin.

“I saved you something.” Crowley says suddenly.

“Oh?” Aziraphale asks.

“I saved you the sword. Do you think it will still flame?” Crowley asks idly, hands now making the path across Aziraphale’s chest and his head tucked into the former angel’s neck.

“Maybe with infernal fire?” Aziraphale posits. “I doubt it would flame with Holy Fire if I’m not an angel.”

Crowley hums thoughtfully and then sighs. “I know we have to go but I don’t want to leave this bed,” he admits.

“Neither do I,” Aziraphale says quietly, “but the sooner we get to Hell the sooner we can explore those chains.” he teases.

Crowley hums intrigued. “You would let me chain you up?”

“I trust you.” Aziraphale says simply. He does. He trusts Crowley with everything.

“I love you,” Crowley says earnestly.

“I love you as well, dear heart.” Aziraphale says softly. Then, “Now. Up! Time to take over Heaven and Hell.” He says enthusiastically and Crowley laughs as he sits up and puts his feet on the floor.

“We should probably take a shower. Like to join me?” Crowley asks his hand outstretched.

“I would love to,” Aziraphale says, taking the offered hand and following his King into the nearby bathroom. The room is enormous. He hadn’t properly taken it in when he had been in there just after switching bodies and the thought of what he had done with Crowley’s body brings a blush to his cheeks.

“Bath or shower?” Crowley asks smiling salaciously.

Aziraphale swallows heavily. “Shower,” he says, his voice sounding strangled.

Crowley smiles wider and pulls Aziraphale into the great shower and turns on the water to the perfect warm temperature. Together they walk in and Aziraphale closes his eyes under the gentle stream. He can’t stand to look in Crowley’s eyes without telling him what he had done. He had asked for no more lies. It isn’t a lie though. It’s an omission.

His thoughts are interrupted by Crowley’s hands in his hair massaging his scalp. Aziraphale drops his head back allowing his… his lover, and his heart skips a beat at the thought, the room to work the lather into his hair and letting the water wash it down the drain. Crowley is smirking as he continues to wash Aziraphale from head to foot and Aziraphale smiles. He smells like Crowley. When Crowley's soapy hands linger on his groin, he is not surprised to find his body reacting and he whines when Crowley moves away without finishing what he had clearly started.

Aziraphale releases a frustrated sigh and tangles his hands in Crowley’s hair and tugs him gently to his knees. Crowley smiles licentiously as he says, teasing, “You are insatiable, Angel.”

“You’ve quite ruined me, my dear.” Aziraphale agrees. _Long long ago, you ruined me._

“I don’t consider it ruined. I love it.” Crowley says as he takes Aziraphale’s cock in hand and leans forward to swallow it down.

Aziraphale gives a surprised shout of delight as his head falls back in pleasure. Aziraphale feels Crowley hum around the shaft in his mouth and moans loudly at the vibrations around his cock. Crowley wastes no time and is swiftly bobbing and sucking, bringing Aziraphale quickly to the brink and Aziraphale’s hands tighten in Crowley’s hair as he comes with a groan down Crowley’s throat.

Aziraphale gives a moan of satisfaction and pulls Crowley off his knees and up to press filthy kisses to his mouth. He can feel Crowley smirk against his lips and when he pulls away is pushing Crowley up against the wall of the shower and grabbing the soap from the shelf there. He takes his time kissing Crowley before digging his hands into Crowley’s hair and returning the favour of soaping him up and rinsing him down. Aziraphale presses his knee between Crowley’s thighs and Crowley gives an aborted thrust against him. So Aziraphale reaches down with his soap slick hands to grasp him. Crowley presses filthy kisses in Aziraphale’s neck as he thrusts into the hands around his cock and spills with a sigh. Aziraphale smiles as he lets the water run down his hand, washing the demonic spend from his hand and down the drain.

“Are we ready?” Aziraphale asks teasingly.

Crowley presses another filthy kiss to Aziraphale’s mouth and smiles. “We are ready.” He turns off the water and pulling Aziraphale off takes the time to towel him down and then himself. “Best get dressed. I don’t want to have to kill even more demons for seeing you like that.”

Aziraphale smiles as he begins to dress. Crowley also gathers his clothes from the floor and pulls on his clothes.

“I want to take us directly to my quarters in the Palace. Then we can make our way into the upper offices and summon Beelzebub, Dagon and Hastur. I want to destroy them in front of the others.” Crowley says viciously.

“Will that scare the others or make the rebel?” Aziraphale asks seriously. “Will they consider you a traitor to the cause for what you’ve done?”

“What I’ve done is kill the Archangels. Hastur has always been a little upstart, Dagon too. Beelzebub is the only one I know is loyal down there and even xe talked down to my son.” Crowley tells him gravely as he finishes dressing.

“Then perhaps you shouldn't kill xir. Instead maim xir. Enough to make a point but not enough to make xir useless to you.” Aziraphale offers. Asbeel, Beelzebub had been kind as an angel and dedicated to Lucifer. He does not doubt it lasted even in Hell.

“Why do people think you’re the nice one?” Crowley asks seriously.

“Because I was an angel.” Aziraphale tells him just as seriously as he puts the finishing touches on his outfit.

“You’re still my angel.” Crowley tells him, grabbing his hands and pressing gentle kisses to the backs.

“And you’re my King now, Boss.” Aziraphale teases.

“You’ve taken this awfully well.” Crowley comments.

“The worst has happened. And I’m still here. And I have you. It’s… freeing in a way to know that I can’t mess up again. She can’t Fell me twice. I’ve thought about it for many many years. What I would do if I Fell. And I resolved to accept it. Why do you think I was so easy to tempt after a certain point? After our Arrangement, I didn’t say no because I didn’t want to Fall. I said no to protect you. If Heaven knew you had stolen an angel, they would have come after you with Holy Water. I couldn’t allow that. It hasn’t been about Falling. Not for me. Not for a very long time.” Aziraphale admits firmly.

“You amaze me, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale hums and then wrinkles his face up in thought. “Should I change my name?”

Crowley's eyes go wide.

“Only I’m quite sure every demon changed their name. Unless you want me to call you Lucifer?” Aziraphale teases but his heart clenches. _My Lucifer_.

Crowley sighs. “It’s up to you. I had everyone change their names because She had given those names to us and She cast us out. But you… you chose to Fall. I think you could keep your name. I quite like your name after all.”

“You do? You haven’t used it for centuries. I’ve been Angel to you for centuries. Since the Globe at least.” Aziraphale comments.

“Because you are my Angel. Mine.” Crowley growls teasingly, pulling Aziraphale flush against his chest.

“Yours.” Aziraphale sighs breathlessly. “Now, to Hell. Sure you don’t want to take the front door? Really make them panic?”

“You think they would?” Crowley asks.

“If the two of us walked in arm in arm. The two immune to Hellfire and Holy Water.” Aziraphale gives a vicious grin and Crowley smiles a diabolical smile.

“Front door it is then. Let me grab the Holy Water.” Crowley goes to the safe behind the sketch of the Mona Lisa and grabs two thermoses of Holy Water and Aziraphale watches impassively.

“I should grab the sword.” Aziraphale says and looks around. Spotting the sword on the desk, he picks it up and the sheath next to it. The sword immediately begins to flame. They both look at one another and shrug. It doesn’t feel any different to when he held it before he Fell.

It doesn’t take long to get to the Tower in the Bentley and soon they are walking through the front doors and towards the down escalator. For a moment he feels like he will rise up to Heaven but he focuses on the feeling of Falling and he fades into his reflection and onto the down escalator. They are soon walking up to the open gates of Hell and the denizens are cowering away. Aziraphale feels a smirk wanting to overtake his face but he remains passive. These demons had wanted his love destroyed and now look at them.

A very brave and very stupid demon stops them with a demand to know what they want in Hell.

“I demand to speak to Beelzebub.” Crowley tells them haughtily.

“Xe isn’t speaking to traitors.” The demon tells them.

“Xe is going to want to hear what I have to say.” Crowley says and reaches forward with claws like meat hooks and tears a hole in the demon’s throat. The demon gives a gurgle as their body collapses and he lies twitching on the ground.

“Anyone else want to stand in our way?” Aziraphale asks, letting his smirk out onto his face.

At the demon’s silence, Crowley reaches back to grab a hold of Aziraphale’s arm and together they make their way through the offices of Hell and into the lower echelons near the Palace. Beelzebub greets them just outside of xir office and Dagon and Hastur are there as well.

“Demon Crowley, what brings you here?” Beelzebub asks as if bored.

“I have come for retribution against Hastur and Dagon.” The two mentioned look nervously at each other and then scoff. “And to reclaim my throne,” Crowley continues. He shifts and changes into his Satan form and Aziraphale relishes in seeing his Lucifer in all his glory standing above the rest of Hell and seeing the denizens stumble backwards in their shock and fear.

“Impossible,” Hastur says fearfully.

“Not impossible as it happened,” Aziraphale comments, stepping forward next to his love and smiling.

“You have been a thorn in my side since you took over as a Duke, Hastur and you, Dagon, have taken far too much joy in witnessing the failure of a fellow demon. And you attacked me.” Crowley tells them maliciously.

“We didn’t know. You made sure we didn’t know. We did what we thought you would want done with a traitor.” Dagon tries to justify and Aziraphale rolls his eyes.

“You should have waited to hear from me.” Crowley says.

“That could take centuries. You always locked yourself in the Palace.” Beelzebub says numbly.

“Oh you are not off the hook either, Beelzebub.” Crow-Satan says turning to xir. “You dared talk down to _my_ son the only true Prince of Hell.” Beelzebub swallows heavily. “But you are too valuable to destroy, you will be spared. The others, however, can be replaced.” Satan says, turning to look at the two cowering demons.

“Shall we proceed to the execution chamber? Or would you rather do it here?” Aziraphale asks calmly. They are going to die screaming like they attempted to do to his love. He cannot find it in him to feel sympathy for them.

“We can do this here,” Satan says, opening his thermos of Holy Water and throwing it at Hastur. He screams and the others scream and demons behind them scream as Hastur melts away.

“M-my Lord.” Dagon stutters once Hastur is just a pile of clothes on the ground.

“Dagon,” Aziraphale interrupts. “Just shut up.” And he throws his open therms of Holy Water on her. There is no screaming, just an aborted cry of surprise. Aziraphale tosses the thermos away carelessly, the Holy Water dripping onto the ground and causing pockmarks in the stone floor. “Oh dear,” He says. “I seem to have got some on me.” He looks down at the drops of water sitting innocently on his hand. He blinks and looks to Crowley and they share a look that he knows means they will discuss it later. He wipes the water off on his pants and hefts his stolen sword onto his shoulder.

“My Lord,” Beelzebub says. “What are your orders now?”

“The Archangels are dead.” Satan says and there is shocked silence before a cheer breaks out. “Gabriel, Uriel and Sandalphon died in Hellfire. And Michael by the sword.” He gestures over to Aziraphale and there are fearful looks sent to the Avenging Angel standing by Satan’s side. Aziraphale smiles and waves the fingers grasping the hilt of his purloined sword. “Now, I’ll leave you to decide what to do with that information. My angel and I will be in the Palace. I don’t much care how you decide to run things as long as you leave us be. We will be on Earth and in the Palace. And lend a hand when needed but I quite enjoy the way things have been going. You do good work, Beelzebub. Just don't forget your place.” Satan finishes with a growl.

“Of course, my Lord.” Beelzebub says bowing low to the ground. Aziraphale watches Satan turn to the gathered demons and sees them all falling to their knees and bowing low as possible. He stands straighter, his head held high as Satan turns to him and reaches out a hand to him. Aziraphale takes his hand as he resumes his Crowley form and Aziraphale lets himself be led into the Palace. They have a life to get to and discussions to have. 


	18. The Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell invades Heaven and Aziraphale comes clean.

“Think they will invade Heaven?” Aziraphale asks as the door closes behind him.

“I truly don’t know. And I don’t care. We have some chains to inspect.” Crowley smiles, pulling Aziraphale into his arms.

Aziraphale smiles a moment but it soon drops. “That was Holy Water.” He says. And Crowley’s smile too drops.

“It was.” Crowley agrees.

“I’m still alive.” Aziraphale says simply.

“Thankfully.” And Crowley presses gentle kisses to Aziraphale’s hand where the water had been sitting.

“It stung a little like… drops of hot oil when you are cooking. But it didn’t cause any damage.” Aziraphale admits smiling at his King’s attention.

“Now that you mention it. That’s what the diluted Holy Water felt like.” Crowley says, still inspecting Aziraphale’s hand.

“What diluted Holy Water?” Aziraphale asks, pulling his hand away. Crowley let’s him go with a pout.

“When Hastur and Ligur came to collect me. I managed to kill Ligur with most of the Holy Water but some of it I had to put diluted into a plant mister. When the water dripped onto me and then Hastur dissolved the plastic and I got all wet, well it stung like your tears but didn’t do anything else. No damage. No death. No nothing.” Crowley tells him, showing his own untouched hands.

“Crowley, Love. That should have killed you.” Aziraphale says slowly. “Holy water blessed by an angel blesses that which it touches.” He explains lowly. “You should be a pile of goo and clothes like Hastur, Dagon, and Ligur.”

“Huh,” Crowley says. “And what about you? That was definitely Holy Water and you definitely Fell. But I noticed it took you a moment to sink when we came in.”

“It was like I was trying to rise again. Like it didn’t want to allow me down for a moment.”

“Something strange is going on.” Crowley says suspiciously.

“Maybe you are immune to Holy Water for real because of who you are?” Aziraphale offers.

“I’m not going to be testing that theory.” Crowley tells him.

“I didn’t think you should. But I’ve been thinking. I really should have known who you were ages ago. At least during the Blitz.” Aziraphale says, his gaze focused on some far off point in time, remembering the Blitz.

“What about the Blitz?” Crowley asks guiding Aziraphale further into the room and to sit on the edge of the huge bed.

“Well, only you could walk on consecrated ground and only come out with some burns. Any other demon is discorporated immediately.” Aziraphale tells him gravely. “And that’s not all. You can control and create Hellfire. No other demon can do that. You are special in a way other demons aren’t. Whether it’s just that you have more power or if She still considers you one of Her favourites, no one will ever know. She certainly isn’t talking to anyone. I have my theories about when She stopped and all the horrible things done in Her name by Heaven. But that’s a discussion for another day.”

“I’m more concerned with how you survived Holy Water, Aziraphale. You Fell. I saw you. I caught you.” Crowley says.

“Maybe because you caught me?”

“I wouldn’t think so.” Crowley says skeptically.

“It’s not like we are going to get answers for any of our questions.” Aziraphale reminds him. “She isn’t going to talk to us.”

There is a knocking at the door. “Szire,” Beelzebub buzzes. “We are preparing to march on the Gates of Heaven. It would mean a lot if you would lead us.”

Crowley and Aziraphale both share a look then look to the bed then back to each other. They sigh and stand. Together they make their way to the door. Crowley opens it and sees Beelzebub standing on the other side dressed for war. Aziraphale still has his sword and looks to Crowley and nods. Crowley smiles and nods as well.

“Very well. It’s time to take over Heaven.” Crowley says simply and walks out of the Palace, out of the offices and up the stairs. Aziraphale follows a step behind and to the right. As they reach ground floor, Crowley reaches back and Aziraphale takes his hand and they begin the trek up to the Gates of Heaven.

The Gates are guarded, as they have been since the Fall, by four Cherubs, their four faces looking every which way. But as the army of Hell approaches, they lower their weapons and step aside. Just inside the gates is the Metatron with the whole of the host at his back. Aziraphale studies the host intently. He notices confusedly that none of them aside from the guards are armed. They are also pale and shaking. Crowley raises his hand to stop the advance but with his grip on Aziraphale’s hand pulls him forward with him as he approaches the Gates. They meet the Metatron at the Gates and Aziraphale realizes he is shaking. There is something dreadfully wrong here. But he wields Michael’s sword with a steady hand.

“Metatron,” Crowley greets with forced friendliness, “I see you are unarmed. Does this mean you surrender?”

“It does, Lucifer,” Crowley growls. “The Almighty does not wish Her children to fight.” Metatron continues as if not hearing Crowley’s threat.

“That’s news to me, considering how little She did in stopping Armageddon.” Crowley says viciously.

“I do not pretend to understand the ways of the Almighty.” Metatron says haughtily.

“Then open the gates and let us be friends,” Crowley whispers and Aziraphale hears, can almost feel, the malice and hatred infused in it. He slips his hand out from Crowley’s and points his sword at Crowley's chest. Crowley looks back at him in hurt and confusion.

“We aren’t going to hurt them, Crowley.” Aziraphale says calmly but forcefully. Inside he is shaking. _I don’t want to fight you._

“Angel,” Crowley croons but Aziraphale interrupts him shaking his head.

“We aren’t going to hurt them.” He says again and Crowley’s eyes narrow.

“Angel, my love.” Crowley begins condescendingly. “Let’s not do this here. They have to go.” Crowley says maliciously.

“No they don’t. Adam wouldn’t want us to kill each other to see who’s best. Remember? Your son.” Aziraphale says and all 20,000,000 angels and demons hold their collective breath.

“Adam is a child…” Crowley hisses.

“And I don’t want you to kill them.” Aziraphale interrupts softly.

“Do you think any one of them would speak up for you?” Crowley asks in a facsimile of tenderness. “Angel, they were prepared to watch you die in Hellfire.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to do the same. We can’t just kill them all.” And the sword in his hand starts to flame. He doesn’t want to do this but he can’t let 10,000,000 angels be destroyed. He was fairly certain none of them had any idea what the Archangels had planned for him. And his little brothers and sisters and siblings. He had watched them all come into being. Alongside the demon next to him. Together they watched as the Almighty created their fellows. He had a duty to them.

“Angel, don’t make me do something we will both regret.” Crowley says lowly.

“Crowley, I love you but destroying them won’t solve anything. They aren’t the reason you Fell.” Aziraphale says quietly so only they and perhaps Metatron can hear.

Suddenly, Crowley's hand is around his throat and he can’t breathe. He is being pulled close to Crowley, the sword between them and Crowley's face close to his own as Crowley hisses.

“What would you know of my Fall?” Crowley growls.

Aziraphale’s eyes are wide and frightened. He could raise the sword and end this. But it’s Crowley. It’s Lucifer. Aziraphale opens his mouth but with no breath he has no air to speak in his defence. He works his mouth anyway and he cries. Tears gathering in his eyes and trailing down his cheeks.

Crowley’s hand not around his neck comes up to brush away his tears and his hand drifts to the back of Aziraphale’s head and brings him in to be gathered in Crowley’s arms. “My angel,” he croons softly. “Why do you push me so?”

“They had nothing to do with your Fall, Crowley. Don’t you remember?” Aziraphale asks softly. The sword in his hands pointed downward and the flames quenched. He is going to cry again. He feels it in his cheeks and the pricking of his eyes.

“What would you know of my Fall?” Crowley asks back, his voice gentler now, softer.

“You don’t recognize me, do you?” Aziraphale asks tearfully and Crowley pulls back. “I thought maybe… but you don’t.” He had thought, in the back of his mind. Maybe…

“You aren’t Aziraphale?” Crowley questions.

“I’m Raphael, Crowley. The Forgotten.” And Aziraphale breathes a a sigh of relief at the admission. The secret of who he is no longer trapped behind his teeth but out for all the host and most importantly for his love his only love to recognize him again.

“Raphael?” Crowley asks confused.

“She stole my memory from you. From everyone. For trying to help you. For trying to catch you.” Aziraphale admits and he is crying again. He feels something shift in Crowley. And the host. Some… pressure easing, lifting, breaking. And then Crowley is crying and Aziraphale is reaching for him. His free hand finding Crowley’s shoulder and the back of his head and pulling him in close and pressing kisses to the crown of his head.

“We can’t kill them all, Crowley.” Aziraphale says and Crowley nods numbly.

Crowley straightens and looks over at Metatron standing just out of reach and says “You surrender?” As a stunned Metatron nods he growls. “Then I want a word with the Almighty.” The Gates of Heaven open wide and Crowley marches in with Aziraphale following quickly at his heels. Crowley calls back over his shoulder, “Beelzebub. They are not to be harmed.”

Aziraphale follows Crowley through Heaven and straight to the throne of the Almighty. It is made of silver and pearl and is empty but for the glow settling on the throne.

“I want answers.” Crowley calls out and the light coalesces in the form of a middle aged woman.

“You always have, my Lightbringer.” the woman says amusedly.

“Mother,” Aziraphale greets.

“Raphael.”

“Aziraphale.” He corrects with a lump in his chest and she nods.

“Why?” Crowley demands. “Why take his memory from me? From everyone? Why did I Fall?”

“You always have had so many questions, my Lightbringer.”

“Then maybe start talking.” He says testily.

“You Fell for refusing orders. I told you to do something and you refused. And so I cast you out.”

“What did I refuse to do?”

“To test them.”

Crowley swallows heavily. “You didn’t cast me out at first.”

“No, I took him from you. You had fallen too much in love with your brother. You refused to test him.”

“Why test him? Why test all of them?” Crowley asks brokenly, his voice echoing.

“Because, I needed to know.”

“Know what?”

“That he loved you back.” And she is gone. Even the glow on the throne is gone.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asks.

“I still don’t understand.”

“You always were Her favourite. The only one She didn’t feel the need to test. She ordered you to test my loyalty to Her and to you. And you refused. You were always meant to test the humans like you did. Lightbringer.” Aziraphale says softly, walking gently forward until he is just behind Crowley.

Crowley shakes his head violently. “Why would She take those memories?”

“So you wouldn’t wait for me.” Aziraphale says and feels the truth of it as it leaves his mouth. She hadn’t wanted him to Fall. Ever. That wasn’t a part of the Plan. He could have said yes. But this was his test. To be loyal to Her or to him. And he’s not sure if he passed or failed.

Crowley gives a sob and Aziraphale wraps his arms around him as Crowley's head falls back to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“I hate Her.” Crowley says through his tears.

“I know you do.” Aziraphale says simply. “Let us go back to Hell. Leave the angels to their Heaven. You have a mighty kingdom to rule and we both have the Earth.”

Aziraphale stands holding Crowley as he weeps for long minutes until the Metatron approaches.

“Lucifer, Beelzebub wishes to speak with you.” Metatron says and Crowley nods.

He reaches for Aziraphale's hand and together they make their way back out to the Gates of Heaven. Beelzebub and the demons have refused to enter into Heaven and as Crowley and Aziraphale approach, Aziraphale can see xir relax slightly.

“My Lords,” xe says respectfully, “If we are not to harm them, what are we to do?”

“We return to Hell. Let the angels have their Heaven. We have our own kingdom.” Crowley says testily. Beelzebub nods and at a signal from xir the hosts of Hell turn and make their way back down to Hell.

“Thank you, Crowley.” Aziraphale says quietly.

“We still have things to discuss, Raphael.” Crowley responds angrily and Aziraphale flinches.

“Of course, Sire,” Raphael answers bowing his head and taking his place behind Crowley on the escalator heading down.

They reach the bottom floor and make their way through the hosts of demons getting back to work and head down to the Palace. Crowley wrenches open the door and gestures Aziraphale in before he enters slamming the door behind him. 


	19. Chains Both Metaphorical and Literal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale apologizes for his omission and they finally play with those chains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is another chapter of porn. Probably involves some under negotiated kinks but no safe-wording. as always skip the page break (~~~~) if you want to skip the porn.

Aziraphale flinches at the sound of the door slamming closed. Crowley is livid. He can practically feel it. And for good reason.

“So, Raphael.” Crowley says and Aziraphale flinches again. “I suppose I know why you took my own persona so easily. And why it was so easy for you to choose to Fall for me. But you lied. You were the one who asked… no demanded no more lies between us.” Aziraphale keeps his head down through Crowley's speech cringing at the rage in his voice. “Well, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Would you have believed me? I thought you recognized me. And then knowing She had made everyone forget me. You wouldn’t have known even if I had said something.” Aziraphale tries quietly. He stands before Crowley tired and with tears in his eyes and thinks. _I’m tired of crying._

“You should have said something. Did Gabriel know? Did any of our brother Archangels? Did you recognize me?” Crowley asks tiredly.

“She erased me from everyone’s memory. Even theirs. And replaced them with me. Aziraphale.” He sighs. “And when you still refused to test the humans, she took all those who had sided with you and Cast them out. Taking your memory of the reason for your Fall. And then you did exactly as She had wanted. You tested them. I didn’t recognize you. You look different enough that I couldn’t see you in there. I was quite distressed when I realized I was falling in love with you. I wanted to tell you, Crowley. When you came clean to me, I wanted to tell you. I wanted to be like we were in Heaven. And like we were on Earth. To love you like that. I still do.” Aziraphale assures.

“Then why didn’t you Fall with us the first time? Why were you so afraid to Fall?” Crowley asks, trying to understand.

“Because I had loved you, Lucifer. I loved you the way She made me to love you. But I also loved Her. She was right. She had to be. Just because I couldn’t understand why She would take me from everyone didn’t mean that She didn’t have a plan for me.” Aziraphale admits. “I was afraid. I was afraid to Fall if you weren’t there to catch me. I had tried to convince you to test me like She had asked you to but you refused. You never told me how She had planned to test me. But now I see this was it. To see if I could love you even without knowing you were made for me.” He is on the verge of tears. All the lies, all the hiding, and now he knows and he remembers.

“You still believe in Her Great Plan?” Crowley asks incredulously.

“I have to. If I don’t then all our suffering and time spent pining and wanting were done for no reason. I don’t want that to be the case. I want to love you because I was always meant to love you. Not because She tried to separate us and failed.” Aziraphale insists. His voice thick with emotion.

“I only remember bits and pieces of you.” Crowley admits frankly.

“It's more than I ever thought I would get.” Aziraphale says tearfully.

“I do love you, Raphael.”

“Aziraphale. I’ve only ever been Aziraphale for… everyone now.” And his chest clenches he wants to be Raphael again. But he knows how difficult it would be to change his name for everyone. And what is his name anyway. What he is known by? He is known as Aziraphale. He has been.

“Angel,” Crowley says instead and his chest unclenches a little. “Come here.” And Crowley opens his arms and Aziraphale enters his embrace and together they cling to each other like drowning. Aziraphale has his head tucked into the crook of Crowley’s neck and Crowley presses chaste kisses to the crown of his head and the tips of his ears. And Aziraphale gives a sigh of contentment.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says softly, “Do you still want me?”

“Any way I can have you.” Crowley replies.

“Because, my King, I believe we were testing out some chains.” Aziraphale says cheekily.

Crowley hums delightedly. Aziraphale feels Crowley's hands trail from around his shoulders to grab at the globes of his arse and Aziraphale jumps. “Do we?” Crowley asks. “Whatever am I to do with a naughty angel?” He asks rhetorically.

Aziraphale just hums noncommittally. Crowley crowds him back against the bed until he sits at the foot of the bed and with a snap of Crowley's fingers the infernal irons at the foot of the bed clamp around his ankles. He hisses in discomfort. It stings.

“Alright, Angel?” Crowley asks, concerned.

“The infernal iron stings a bit. Like the Holy Water.” He answers as he squirms.

“Would you rather I trade them out for human iron?” Crowley asks seriously.

“No. No it’s fine.” Aziraphale says and seeing the doubtful look on Crowley's face adds, “I promise.”

“I will hold you to that, Angel.” Crowley tells him. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes, dealing with a wayward angel.” And Crowley steps up close and wraps his hand lightly around Aziraphale’s neck and with gentle pressure guides him down to lay on the bed. Another snap has the irons at the head of the bed wrapping around his wrists and pulling him up to rest in the middle of the expansive bed. Yet another snap sounds and his clothes are off and set somewhere out of the way. Aziraphale tests the give on the chains at his head and feet and finds them loose enough to squirm but not to get out of position. Position being his legs spread obscenely wide and wrists bound together above his head. Aziraphale can feel Crowley stalking him from around the perimeter of the bed as much as he can see him.

“Now, what do we say if we want this to stop?” Crowley asks firmly.

“Umm… Stop?” Aziraphale asks nervously.

“I think we are going to need something a bit more tonight. Are you familiar with the concept of a safeword?” Crowley asks gentler. From the side of the bed.

“I believe so. I say it and we stop.” Aziraphale says. Those top shelf romance books had been good for something even if he would deny ever having them.

“Yes. You use it when stop can sometimes mean go on. When we play like this, I don’t want to think you mean yes when you really mean stop. So, can you think of a word to say that can mean stop?”

A word to mean stop? A word to mean stop. A word to mean… there are so many words out there. But the idea is one he wouldn’t have any chance of saying during a scene ordinarily. He hums distressed at taking so long to settle on something. “Duck?” He offers. Remembering how Crowley seems to have a thing about ducks. They meet at the duck pond, that comment about ducks just a few… well it feels like days but was nearly a week ago.

“Duck? Is that your safeword?” Crowley asks.

“Yes.” Aziraphale answers firmly.

“And you will use it?” Crowley asks standing at the foot of the bed and meeting Aziraphale’s eyes.

“I trust you, Lucifer. But yes. I will say ‘Duck’ if I need you to stop.” Aziraphale says tenderly.

“You had better. If you don’t use your safeword I won’t pay with you again for a very long time. I don’t want to hurt you, Raphael.” Crowley says quietly but firmly.

“I deserve that.” Aziraphale says and his chest opens. “Alright Crowley.” And he nods to go ahead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crowley moves out of Aziraphale’s range of sight once again and Aziraphale tries not to fidget under the heat of his gaze. He hears the sounds of cloth on cloth and imagines Crowley stripping out of his clothes. He begins to harden at the image in his head.

“Look what a pleasant present I have waiting in my bed.” Crowley says teasingly. “Wherever did they get me an angel to play with?”

“Demon.” Aziraphale says pushing all the righteous fury he has into his voice. Crowley had wanted a reason to use chains on him. He will give Crowley what he wants. A fight.

“I don’t think you want to be getting an attitude with me, little lost angel.” Crowley says and he appears at the foot of the bed watching Aziraphale from between his spread legs.

“What do you want with me?” Aziraphale asks. It’s a valid question. If he had been captured and brought to Hell into the Palace. He would ask that question.

“Anything I like.” Crowley responds idly.

“You won’t get away with this, demon.”

“Oh, I think I will. After all, who’s going to stop me? Who even cares that you are so very far from home, little angel?” Crowley croon pityingly. Aziraphale feels his hand land on his calf and slowly drag up his leg. He tries to jerk away but the chains pull him taut against the bed, no longer loose enough to struggle.

 _Well, that’s new._ He thinks as his cock twitches in his excitement. He can see Crowley smirk as he climbs up onto the bed and kneels with his knees to either side of Aziraphale’s hips.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamed of having you chained to this bed, Angel.” Crowley admits. “And seeing you here is even better than I imagined it.” His hands dance lightly up Aziraphale’s thighs and missing his erection by millimetres.

Aziraphale swallows heavily. “Let me go,” He whispers. _Don’t stop. Please._

“No. No, I don’t think I will.” Crowley tells him calmly. Crowley leans down to press a gentle kiss to the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth and he keeps his lips tightly closed despite wanting to open to Crowley’s questing tongue. Crowley pulls back to smile gently in contrast to the vicious way his hand moves to pry open Aziraphale’s mouth with his fingers pressing behind his jaw. Crowley takes the opportunity to kiss him quick and filthy tongue invading Aziraphale’s mouth. Licking his way into the propped open mouth before him.

“So stubborn,” Crowley says admiringly. “You will beg me before the end. What you beg me for is yet to be determined.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasps.

Crowley smiles. “Not Crowley, Angel. Satan.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widen but Crowley doesn’t change his form and he relaxes. He’s not sure he’s ready to see his Lucifer like this.

Crowley leans down over him to press filthy kisses to the column of his neck and bites hard at the pulse point of his neck and Aziraphale gives a shocked cry of pain and, surprisingly, pleasure. Crowley ignores him and continues to worry the skin of his neck. When Crowley pulls away he gives a smile full of teeth and Aziraphale whimpers.

Crowley gradually trails kisses from the mark on his neck to his chest and toying with his nipples. A pinch to the right causes a cry to come from Aziraphale’s mouth. Crowley uses the opportunity to invade his mouth with two fingers. Aziraphale gives a cut off cry at the intrusion and Crowley sits up to eye him. Aziraphale has his head tilted this way and that with the fingers in his mouth as a guide. It doesn’t even occur to him to bite down but to allow Crowley his clinical examination.

“Such a lovely thing you are.” Crowley says idly. “I will enjoy breaking you.” Aziraphale feels Crowley’s hand around his neck again and it squeezes gently. “You belong to me, little angel. Mine to use and mine to throw away. And I think you would look lovely with a collar on, don’t you?” Crowley asks rhetorically as a snap of his free hand has an infernal iron collar wrapped tightly around Aziraphale’s neck.

Crowley works two fingers easily into the space between the collar and Aziraphale's flesh and hums in satisfaction. Aziraphale feels a chain being passed between his hands and his head is pulled back against the headboard by the chain attached to his collar.

“Still doing alright there angel?” Crowley asks gently. And Aziraphale nods as much as he is able with the collar around his neck chaining him to the headboard. “Words, Aziraphale.” Crowley admonishes.

“I’m fine.” Aziraphale whispers. He’s more than fine the subtle pressure and stinging pain around his extremities has him held securely and safe at Crowley's mercy.

“Are you sure?” Crowley asks.

“Positive.” Aziraphale whispers breathlessly.

“Good, angel.” Crowley croons petting at Aziraphale’s hair for a moment and something in Aziraphale’s chest releases before Crowley grips his hair tightly and yanks his head back to bare his throat. Aziraphale’s breathing picks up at the action. “Are you going to be a good angel for me?” Crowley asks harshly.

Aziraphale is silent. _Yes. I’ll be good_. He thinks but that is not the game they are playing.

Crowley lets out a frustrated growl and lets go of the hair in his grasp and moves down Aziraphale’s chest to bite and lick and suck marks into the soft skin of his chest and nipples. The attention has Aziraphale arching up into the mouth against his skin as much as the chains will allow but he stays stubbornly silent aside from his heavy breathing. Crowley sits up and Aziraphale whines high in his throat. With a snap Crowley is bare and Aziraphale’s eyes are drawn to his cock hanging full and heavy between his legs and he swallows. He wants to taste the heated flesh on his tongue.

“Hungry, Angel?” Crowley asks prying open his mouth again. “Are you going to behave or should I get you a gag?”

“Gag? Aziraphale whimpers and with a snap Crowley is holding what looks like two metals o’s attached to a leather collar. He’s never seen one before but the purpose is easy to determine. It’s to keep his mouth open for Crowley to… to fuck. Aziraphale’s eyes widen even more and he swallows. Today is full of new surprises. He feels heat low in his belly and his mouth starts to salivate. He wants.

“Are you going to behave?” Crowley asks seriously.

Aziraphale very slowly shakes his head no. No he wants that.

“I’m going to have to gag you, Angel?” Crowley asks again.

Aziraphale very slowly nods his head yes. Crowley smirks.

“Open your mouth, Angel. Or should I open it for you?” Crowley asks and, not waiting for a response, snaps his hand forward to force open Aziraphale’s mouth and fitting the rings into his open mouth, propping it open. Aziraphale struggles but not enough to dislodge Crowley's hands or impede his work as he latches the leather behind his head. Crowley smiles once the gag is in place and again examines him tilting his head to and fro. Aziraphale feels his breathing pick up. He wants… he wants to taste his King. Crowley roughly grabs the back of his head and yanks his head back, with his other hand Crowley slowly feeds his cock into Aziraphale’s open mouth. He tastes delicious. The heat of him on his tongue.

Aziraphale hears Crowley moan above him and gags as Crowley gives a roll of his hips. He relishes in the feel of Crowley's heated flesh gagging him with every roll of his hips. Crowley goes gently at first, slow and deep causing Aziraphale to choke on every thrust. Tears spring to his eyes and burst their dam at a particularly deep thrust. Crowley’s thrusts soon pick up and his hips piston in and out roughly.

“Angel, you have no idea how good you feel.” Crowley tells him. “Fuck.” He groans.

Aziraphale moans around the hot flesh in his mouth at the taste of salty precome on his tongue and the vibration causes Crowley to moan and his hips to stutter. Aziraphale feels Crowley's hands tangle in his hair to hold him steady as Crowley thrusts in quick succession into his waiting mouth and then pulls out.

Aziraphale pants to catch the breath he doesn’t need. He feels filthy. Mouth held open and spit and precome dribbling down his chin. Tears on his cheeks. But the look on Crowley’s face tells him he loves the view. He tries to force out several more tears and is rewarded with a kiss to the corners of his mouth where the metal is digging into the skin.

Aziraphale feels Crowley moving down pressing kisses lower and lower, to the edge of the collar to the bite marks on his chest and down to his neglected cock. Crowley grasps it loosely in his fist and strokes ever so slowly and with feather light touches. And Aziraphale groans his head dropping back into the bed.

“Should I take off your gag, Angel? Only I want to hear you beg.” Crowley says as he gives another light stroke and presses his thumb across the head of Aziraphale’s prick. Aziraphale whines and tries to thrust into the hand around him. His back arches but otherwise, he is immobile. With a snap, the gag loosens and Crowley reaches up to remove it from Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Cr-Satan,” Aziraphale pants heavily. _Please. More._

“Are you ready to beg, little angel?” Crowley asks gently.

Where would be the fun in that? Aziraphale shakes his head no and feels Crowley blow a gentle stream of air over the head of his cock. He groans and tries to thrust up again and again is held in place by the infernal irons around his ankles, wrists, and neck. Aziraphale feels Crowley's mouth close around the head of his cock and suckling gently. He gives a cry of pleasure as he tries again to thrust up. The irons around his flash host and stinging and he gives another cry of frustration.

“Pl-” Aziraphale starts but cuts himself off with a strangled gasp. _Not yet._

“What was that, Angel?” Crowley asks and Aziraphale shakes his head. Crowley goes back to sucking gently at the head of the cock. And then Aziraphale feels his mouth travelling back sucking first one then the other of his stones into the hot mouth. Aziraphale sobs at the sensation.

Crowley sits back up and gives a hum of consideration. Aziraphale hears a snap and then his legs are being pulled up and up and over his head to pull at the corners at the head of the bed. Putting him on even more obscene display, exposing his arse to Crowley's hungry gaze.

Aziraphale gives a surprised cry at the change in position and feels Crowley’s hands tumbling his stones in his hands. Then his mouth is there lapping at his entrance. “Satan!” Aziraphale exclaims in surprise. “G-please.” He pants, escaping his mouth without his permission.

“What was that, Angel?” Crowley asks and he can feel the smile on his face against the flesh of his arse.

“Please,” Aziraphale whispers again.

“Please what?” Crowley insists.

“Please. More,” he whimpers.

“Now that is lovely.” Crowley says delightedly. And Aziraphale feels Crowley’s mouth back at his arse, kissing his entrance quick and filthy, tongue spearing into his hole stretching it and getting it wet and slick. He feels something more rigid than a tongue pressing in alongside the wet muscle.

“Please oh G-, Satan, please. I’ll be good, please more.” Aziraphale babbles, the dam of his pleasure once overrun giving voice to his pleas and incapable of stopping.

Crowley hums against Aziraphale’s entrance and he twitches. Crowley pulls back and there is a snap then the feel of two of Crowley’s slim fingers pushing against his rim. They push in without resistance and crook searching for the spot that he had found the last time. Aziraphale feels them brush that spot of pleasure pain and gives a shout and tenses trying still to thrust. Crowley rubs gently at the bundle of nerves and adds a third finger. Aziraphale is only dimly aware of speaking. Babbling nonsense encouragement, strings of pleas, and cries of pleasure at the feel of Crowley’s fingers deep in his channel. Crowley slowly removes his fingers and Aziraphale gives a sob of disappointment.

“Shh, Angel,” Crowley hushes him. “I’ve got you. I’ll take good care of you.” He croons, slicking his own cock and slowly pushing into Aziraphale’s hot channel. He goes slowly and bottoms out deep inside of Aziraphale’s body. They both give a sigh of pleasure once he stops.

Crowley pauses only a moment before pulling out and then pushing in forcefully. He repeats the move and Aziraphale gives a cry of pleasure.

“That’s it, Angel. You can take it.” Crowley says and begins thrusting in earnest. He pulls almost all the way out and back in pushing Aziraphale up the bed and his hands gripping his hips pulling him back down. Crowley teasingly pulls all the way out and Aziraphale gives a whine of protest.

“Please,” Aziraphale says and Crowley thrusts back in forcefully. He sets a bruising pace pounding into Aziraphale’s willing body and Aziraphale whines pitifully.

“Please, Satan, Please,” Aziraphale begs.

“What do you want, Angel? Tell me,” Crowley commands.

“Touch me, please. I want to come. I’ll be good. Please let me come,” Aziraphale begs. He needs it. But he can’t disappoint Crowley. He needs permission.

Crowley lets go of his bruising grip with one hand and Aziraphale feels it wrap delicately around his member and stroke slowly.

“You can come when I tell you to.” Crowley says and strokes firmly but slowly once again. Aziraphale nods his head frantically. He feels Crowley’s fist stroking in time with his own powerful thrusts and soon Crowley's hips stutter. “You can come now, Angel.” He says speeding up his fist around Aziraphale’s cock.

Aziraphale gives a huge sob as he comes, his spend dripping over Crowley's hand and onto his own stomach. Crowley is not far behind him, his hips stuttering and screwing in as tight as he can to come deep in Aziraphale's clenching channel.

Aziraphale gives a whine of disappointment as Crowley goes to pull out. “Please,” He whimpers and Crowley pauses.

“Please what, Angel?” Crowley asks gently.

“Don’t leave me,” Aziraphale whispers, tears in his eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Crowley says wrapping his arms around his angel’s torso as much as possible with his legs still hoisted above his head.

“Don’t leave me empty.” Aziraphale whines.

Crowley gives a hum of understanding and Aziraphale hears a snap as if from a great distance. He feels Crowley continue to pull out and whines again in protest.

“Shh, Angel. I know. But I can’t stay hard forever. You’ll like this. I promise.” Crowley assures him softly. And then there is something else pushing into him again.

It feels different to Crowley but reaches the same space inside of him that Crowley had taken up and he sighs in approval.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is the sound of another snap but Aziraphale is not paying attention. He is caught up in the feeling of floating, loose and free. He whines as he feels his legs being pulled down and his muscles protest but then Crowley's hands are on his massaging the tense muscles. He feels his arms being pulled down and placed at his sides. But when the collar disappears, he whines and his breathing picks up. _No. No. No._ He feels himself being turned onto his side but his limbs are too loose to do anything.

He hears Crowley shush him and then the pressure is back around his neck in the form of Crowley's hand and he sighs out in relief. Crowley is still here. Crowley still wants him. Crowley’s legs wrap around his hip and then Crowley's voice washes over him.

“You did so well, Angel. You were perfect. My perfect angel. My own.” Crowley croons and Aziraphale relaxes. He's a good angel. Soon his breathing calms and, wrapped up securely in Crowley's, Satan’s, Lucifer’s arms he falls asleep.


	20. Relocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets a call and their new family gains a member.

Aziraphale feels safe. There is a pressure around his throat and his hips and he feels safe. He stretches arching his back and pointing his feet far to the end of the bed before he settles back into the hold and sighs. He feels…

“Crowley,” he sighs.

“My angel,” Crowley coos and Aziraphale smiles and stretches again and winces. “What’s wrong?” Crowley says immediately in a worried tone.

“That dildo you put up my arse,” Aziraphale replies sardonically.

“Ah,” Crowley says and gently goes to remove it. “You didn’t want to be empty.”

“I like feeling you inside me. Keep it,” Aziraphale admits, embarrassed.

“I will.” Crowley says and sets the dildo to the side. “Otherwise how do you feel?”

“Relaxed. Calm.” Aziraphale says. _Safe. Content._

“Good,” Crowley says gently.

They spend long minutes just laying in each other’s arms while Crowley traces nonsense patterns into Aziraphale’s stomach. “Crowley?” Aziraphale whispers, not quite wanting to break the reverent silence.

“Yes, Love?” Crowley asks just as quietly.

“Are… Are we going to be okay?” Aziraphale asks softly, afraid of the answer.

Crowley’s hands stop their paths on his skin. “What makes you think we won’t be?”

“We have 6000 years of lies between us. Aren’t you worried about how quickly we seem to have gotten over it?” Aziraphale asks quietly, barely a breath of noise.

“No, because we know each other. Names are simply that. Names. I know you and I hope you know me.” Crowley tells him gravely.

“It seems so easy when you put it like that.” And it does. So easy to forgive and forget lies upon lies of thoughts and deeds and motivations and… Aziraphale wants to forgive. He wants to be with Crowley. With Lucifer for all that Lucifer hates being Lucifer and would rather be Satan. He thinks. He hasn’t discussed it with him. And they do need to have a full conversation about that. About how much Aziraphale would have given to be his kept angel in the beginning.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Crowley asks nervously. Breaking into his reverie.

“No. No, just thinking.”

Crowley hums distractedly and buries his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, pressing soft kisses to the softer flesh. Aziraphale tilts his head to the side offering his neck to his King when Crowley's mobile goes off. They both narrow their eyes and with a snap Crowley has the offending thing in his hand.

“Yes?” Crowley asks testily. And there is a pause.

“Adam?” He asks incredulously. “What are you doing calling me? Is everything alright?” Crowley asks worriedly.

 _Adam? What’s wrong?_ Aziraphale thinks as there is another pause.

“Where are you?” Crowley says letting go and getting out of the bed. Aziraphale follows and is already getting dressed when Crowley continues. “I’m in Hell right now. Meet me at the bus stop. I’ll be there. Give me an hour and a half.”

“What do you think happened?” Aziraphale asks nervously as he finishes dressing.

“I don’t know. I don’t know whether he still has his powers. He was never human to begin with so he couldn’t have become human.” Crowley tells him searching for his shoes. Aziraphale cleats his throat and hands him his shoes wryly.

“Poor kid.” Aziraphale says sadly. He just can’t be normal.

They skip the trip back through Hell and instead arrive directly back in Crowley’s flat where they waste no time in proceeding down to the street and into the waiting Bentley. The drive is taken at Crowley's typical manic speed and they arrive to find Adam sitting forlornly on the bench with his bike and Dog sitting on the ground in front of him.

“Adam,” Crowley exclaims, jumping out of the Bentley. “What happened?”

“I lost my temper,” Adam says ashamed.

“So you said, but what happened?” Aziraphale asks while getting out more sedately and joining Adam on the bench.

“Dad, Mr. Young. He wanted to put Dog down.” Adam says his head hanging low and Dog lets out a whine.

“What?” Crowley asks incredulously.

“I got into a fight. With Greasy Johnson. The third baby. He lives in Tadfield, leads the rival gang, and Dog, he was protecting me. But he bit Johnson. And now Mr. Young says we have to put him down.” Adam says lowly. “So… I told him he wasn’t my real dad.”

“Adam,” Crowley says and pauses a moment before wrapping an arm around his son’s shoulders. He sighs, “Did they believe you?”

“Not at first but then I showed them the paperwork from the hospital. The ones that burned down but I recreated. The ones that show there were three babies and that the nuns messed up.” Adam tells them.

“They had paperwork saying they switched the babies? That doesn’t sound very smart.” Aziraphale comments truthfully.

“They were Satanists, Angel. They aren’t smart.” Crowley tells him. “What did the Young’s say to that?” Crowley asks Adam.

“They just stormed out. I don’t know where they went.” Adam says.

“Okay. Okay.” Crowley nods his head and sighs. “I think we need to talk with them.”

“Adam, do they know why the nuns switched the babies?” Aziraphale asks. This could be bad. If mortals are aware of the supernatural.

“Yeah. That was in the paperwork. At least, it said repeatedly, ‘Our Master’s Son’. I assume it wouldn’t take much to figure out something was strange.” Adam admits.

“Okay. Well… well. We need to have a talk with them. But I don’t see why you can’t stay with us.” Aziraphale says, looking to Crowley. Crowley nods.

“Right. You can stay with us, Hell-spawn.” Crowley says and Adam smiles slightly and Dog barks and jumps up on Adam’s knees. “Dog too.” Crowley adds. “Let’s get you back to the Young’s and we can talk to them.”

“I’ll add the bike rake again.” Aziraphale says with a smirk and puts the bike on the newly miracled bike rake. Adam and Dog climb into the back seat of the Bentley when Crowley gestures them in and then all three plus Dog head off to 4 Hogback Lane.

Crowley parks on the side of the street and they all climb out. The Young’s are back if their car is any indication. Adam leads the way up the path and into the house. Aziraphale shares a look with Crowley as they follow him.

“Adam, What is going on? Who is this?” Mrs. Young asks as they troop through the door.

“This is my real dad.” Adam says gesturing to Crowley.

“Your real dad. You knew who he was?” Mrs. Young asks.

“Only for the last week. He found me.”

“And that is…” She gestures to Aziraphale.

“That’s his…” Adam trails off.

“Husband.” Crowley finishes and Aziraphale heart somersaults in his chest.

“Oh good Lord,” Mrs. Young says her hand to her chest and Mr. Young comes into the foyer.

“Get out.” Mr. Young says firmly.

“No, I don’t think we will. We need to talk.” Crowley says idly.

“If you are Adam’s real father then you can take him. I don’t want him anywhere near my house.” Mr. Young says and Adam flinches.

“What did you just say?” Aziraphale hisses pulling Adam back and into his arms.

“You heard me.” Mr Young says and Crowley takes off his glasses. Mr. Young pales. “I knew he was some unnatural thing. Their Master’s son. And just what are you?”

“Satan at your service,” Crowley hisses low and sibilant, nearly a whisper and bows his head mockingly.

“I won’t have the… the Antichrist in my home. Get out.” Mr. Young says and Mrs. Young in silent.

“Mrs. Young?” Aziraphale asks and she looks away. “Come on, Adam. Let’s gather your things. Let your father deal with them.” He wraps his arm around Adam’s shoulder and guides him further into the house and looks back with murder in his eyes to meet Crowley’s equally livid gaze.

Adam guides Aziraphale to his bedroom and with a snap there are empty boxes strewn through the room which they begin to pack. Each full box is sent away with another snap. With a few miracles the room is empty aside from the furniture and they are emptying the other rooms in the house. They find their way back to the foyer to see Mr. and Mrs. Young standing with tears streaming down their faces and clutching each other fearfully.

Crowley turns to Adam and Aziraphale and smiles happily. “All set, Adam?”

Adam just nods sadly.

“Come on, Hell-spawn.” Crowley says affectionately and wrapping his arm around Adam’s shoulders guides him out of the house. Aziraphale pauses a moment to let out a bit of his true form out and stares down the Young’s with millions of eyes and wings upon wings stretching out into eternity.

“He’s not the one you should worry about.” Aziraphale hisses before pulling his power back and adding. “Pleasure meeting you.” and following out the door.

“Where’s his stuff?” He catches Crowley asking.

“At your flat. I thought it had more room than the bookshop but we may need to re-evaluate our living situation.” Aziraphale tells him as they climb into the Bentley.

“I think so.” Crowley agrees. “What do you think, Adam? Should we stay in London or see where else we might like better?” He asks as they begin the trek back to London at the usual ninety miles and hour.

“I haven’t been to London very often. Is it a fun place to live?” Adam asks.

“We’ve been there since it was founded almost. It’s a fine place to live for us. But I’m not sure about for a kid like you.” Aziraphale admits.

“Well, let’s give it a try?” Adam suggests.

“We can do that. And move again if it doesn’t work out.” Crowley says. “We will need to get you enrolled at a school.” Aziraphale smiles and as they pull into London’s traffic, he takes Crowley’s spare hand in his and presses a kiss to the back.

The trip back to Mayfair is nerve wracking as always but even more so with Adam in the car. They make their way up to Crowley’s flat where the boxes of Adam’s stuff are piled in the living room.

“The flat isn’t made for comfort or living in. Doesn’t the bookshop have a flat up above?” Crowley asks.

“Yes. It’s not used at all right now. We will have to furnish it. That could take some time to get the furniture ordered.” Aziraphale admits.

“Well, in the meantime we can reorganize this one.” Crowley says. “The spare room can be turned into another bedroom for Adam and we can just get the most essentials out of the boxes for now.”

“I’m not being a burden to you, am I?” Adam asks quietly

“Adam,” Aziraphale says seriously and waits until Adam raises his head to look at him. “You are our responsibility. You are not a burden.”

“Exactly, Hell-spawn. If we didn’t want you we wouldn’t have shown up.” Crowley says with a wave. “Besides, how can we expect a couple humans to teach you everything you need to know about being a celestial being. You aren’t human, Adam. You are more than they are.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale exclaims happily. “We can teach him to fly.”

“We have to make sure he has wings first, angel. Do you have wings?” Crowley asks.

“I don’t know. How would I find that out?” Adam asks.

“You feel them. In the ethereal planes. Just, close your eyes.” Crowley instructs and Adam does so. “And reach out not with your hands but your mind. Feel your fingertips. Feel your heart beat. Feel your wings. Ruffle the feathers. And bring them out. Into the physical realm.” Adam’s face is scrunched in concentration before there is a woosh of displaced air. And two pairs of lovely speckled wings are taking up the space behind him.

“Did it work?” Adam asks, not opening his eyes.

“It worked. They are lovely, Adam.” Aziraphale tells him truthfully.

“Now, good wing etiquette. Never touch another’s wings without permission. Just in general don’t go touching other people without permission but especially wings. They are an extension of your soul. To touch someone’s wings is to touch their soul. Understand?” Crowley explains.

“I understand.” Adam nods and Crowley reaches out to ruffle his hair.

“They really are something special, Adam. Can you bring them forward and you can see?” Crowley says gently.

“I think so.”

“It’s a new set of muscles to get used to but they respond to your thoughts the same way as any other muscle. You’ll get used to them.” Crowley tells him.

“They seem to be in good condition but we’ll also teach you to groom your wings.” Aziraphale adds.

“ _I’ll_ show him how to groom his wings.” Crowley says.

“Why you?” Aziraphale says, taking offence to the tone.

“Because, Angel. Your wings are a mess.”

“My wings are not a mess.” Aziraphale says haughtily.

“Angel, they are likely still burnt from the Fall. I’ll show him how to groom his wings.” Crowley tells him gently.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says. _That’s right. I Fell?_ “I suppose you’re right, my dear.” He adds slowly, not quite connected.

“Aziraphale, Love, come here,” Crowley says gently and takes him into his arms. “Let’s see how your wings are today? Will you show them to me?”

Aziraphale nods slowly and unveils his wings. They are pure white and in disarray but have healed.

“There you are, just need straightening. Why don’t we do that later tonight after Adam gets settled. We can show him how to groom his wings.” Crowley suggests.

Aziraphale brings one of his wings forward to inspect it for damage and finding only feathers in disarray, nods numbly. “I expected it to take longer to heal.” He says questioningly.

“What… What happened?” Adam asks quietly.

“A lot happened in the celestial planes after you didn’t end the world.” Crowley tells him. “Are you sure you want me as your father, Adam. Because I am not a nice person. I’ve killed people before. Angels. The good guys. We can still go back and wipe the Young’s minds and they will never know you aren’t their son.”

“You killed angels?” Adam asks nervously.

“They were going to kill Aziraphale. We just learned a way around it.” Crowley tells him gravely.

“So you killed them?”

“They brought up Hellfire to burn him into non-existence. I just turned it against them.” Crowley explained patiently.

“But you killed them.”

“Yes. Permanently and forever. It unmade them.” Crowley admits.

“They weren’t good people, Adam. But the both of us killed angels. Archangels. But we haven’t harmed the other angels when they surrendered to Hell.” Aziraphale tells him seriously.

“They weren’t good people though?”

“They were very bad angels. They did not love humanity or the Earth. They wanted it destroyed.”

“The demons did too. Are you killing them?”

“Yes, Several demons did die.”

Adam swallows. “I see.”

“Adam,” Crowley says gently, waiting for Adam to meet his gaze. “I am the devil. Satan himself. I am a demon and I am not nice. But, and I promise you this, I will never harm you. I tempt people into doing bad things but I can’t make them follow through. They make their own choices. I merely… test… them.”

“I believe you.” Adam says slowly.

“Then I think it’s time for lunch.”Aziraphale says happily. “Do you like sushi?”

“Um… I’ve never had it.” Adam says and Aziraphale gives an overdramatic gasp of surprise.

“We will just have to fix that. Let's get you unpacked and head to the furniture store and then you can see the bookshop. Which I have to thank you for fixing, dear boy. It really meant a lot to me.” Aziraphale says, moving boxes from the living room and into the spare room where he miracles up a bed for Adam.

The boxes are moved quickly and they eat at Aziraphale's favourite sushi restaurant though Adam opts for something cooked. They pay a visit to the book shop and Aziraphale grabs a book to take back to the flat with him. The flat above the bookshop has a kitchen, a dining area, a seating area, and two bedrooms. Enough for their small family and no rules against dogs even small Hell-hounds. There was still a lot to do, getting furniture for one, and getting Adam enrolled in school for another. But for now, they head back to Mayfair, eat a quiet dinner of takeaway and go to bed.

“Do you think Adam will be alright?” Aziraphale questions once they are both naked under the covers.

“I think he’ll be fine. He should never have been with regular humans to begin with. He belongs with us. He’s our son.” Crowley answers drowsily.

“Your son, Crowley.” Aziraphale corrects quietly.

“Ours, Angel. Now go to sleep.” Crowley answers, his arm thrown over his eyes as Aziraphale sits up with a book and the side table light on.

“I’m going to read tonight. You go to sleep, dearest.” Aziraphale says and before he finishes he hears small hiss-like snores coming from his King. Aziraphale smiles to himself and settles in for a night of reading. After all, tomorrow is going to be a long day too. But there will be a tomorrow. And a day after. 


	21. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new family goes shopping and Crowley has a present for Aziraphale.

It is five thirty in the morning and Aziraphale is bored. He finished his book half an hour ago and has been watching his… husband sleep. And isn’t that strange to call Crowley his husband. He never thought it would come to this. To have everything he ever wanted. Crowley and Lucifer as one person. That Heaven and Hell would be off their backs permanently. And even to have a son to raise with Crowley. Despite the fact Adam is mostly raised already, his childhood left behind to move into semi-adulthood. It’s a bit overwhelming.

He is watching Crowley sleep when the thoughts overwhelm him. He finds himself choking on air. And claustrophobic. He needs out. It’s going too fast. Everything is going too fast. He is suddenly and inexplicably in the bookshop on the ground breathing heavy. But the smell of the bookshop, old books, slightly musty, and book glue, calms him; he finds himself taking deep breaths like Crowley had taught him to the last time he panicked like this. Slowly he sits up in the dark and realizes where he is.

“Oh… bugger.” He mutters to himself. It is six o’clock in the morning and Aziraphale is nowhere near his husband and… son. He decides it might not be a bad idea to stock up on books to read to keep the thoughts at bay because he certainly doesn’t want to end up as slothful as Crowley. Despite how much he has enjoyed getting to the sleep state recently. He begins gathering up copies of several of his favourite books. The ones that drive Crowley crazy like Shakespeare’s sonnets, not the plays those are meant to be watched not read, but the sonnets and Dear Oscar’s books as well. Once he has a stack of books he takes them in his arms and leaves through the front door making sure it locks with a miracle.

It is seven thirty in the morning and he is making his way back to Mayfair to hopefully be home by the time Adam and Crowley wake so he won’t have to explain why he was out of the house so early in the morning. He is not that lucky. He runs into them leaving the building with Dog on a leash.

“Oh, my dears, I had planned to be back by the time you woke up.” Aziraphale says fretfully.

“Dog needed out, Aziraphale.” Adam tells him with a nervous smile.

“Oh, Adam, I’m sorry I should have taken him with me. I could have taken him through Golden Square. It’s not far from the bookshop.”

“It’s alright, Angel, I was going to take him over to Berkeley Square Garden. It’s closer.” Crowley says.

“Oh, you’re probably right, dear.” Aziraphale says.

“I’m always right, Angel.” Crowley responds with a smirk drawing an eye roll out of Aziraphale. “Send your books up to the flat and take a walk with us.” he suggests.

“I would be delighted.” Aziraphale says and the books are dropped gently on the great desk in Crowley's office. Crowley offers his arm and Aziraphale takes it and together the four make their way through Mayfair and to the park. It’s a pleasant walk and Crowley and Aziraphale point out interesting landmarks or bits of history that they remember. Adam soaks up the attention and Dog seems to be on his best behaviour but with Satan himself walking him, he must be.

They reach the garden without incident and wait as Dog finishes his business and moves on to scenting the air. Crowley takes care of the clean up and the group moves on.

“We have quite the to-do list today.” Aziraphale says on their way back to the flat. “We need to get Adam registered with a school and go furniture shopping.”

“I also have to check in with Beelzebub about Hell and let them know that Adam is staying with us.” Crowley adds.

“Why does Hell have to know that?” Adam asks, confused.

“So they pay you the proper respect.” Crowley tells him and explains, “You are a Prince of Hell, Adam. They should always have been bowing at your feet hoping you don’t notice them because if you notice them you can destroy them.”

“I wouldn’t destroy anybody.” Adam says.

“And that’s not a bad thing. You were raised to have empathy for others. It’s a very human trait. But celestial beings like angels and demons are made to follow orders. Your Father and I have picked up on empathy and love but you would not find them among the hosts of either Heaven or Hell.” Aziraphale explains patiently. “It’s why you saved the Earth and stopped the War. Not that the War was stopped for long. But it’s over with now.”

“So, what did happen in the celestial plane? After I saved the world?” Adam asks curiously.

“Well, Heaven and Hell cooperated to kill us. But it didn’t work. We seem to be immune to both Hellfire and Holy Water. But I killed the Archangels. Most of them. And then Michael attacked us again. And Aziraphale killed him. So we invaded Heaven and they surrendered. It’s not going to change anything. We still have jobs to do: testing the humans, taking care of their souls, torturing the wicked, and pampering the just.” Crowley admits.

“What about the Plan?” Adam asks.

“Which one? The Great Plan or the Ineffable one?” Aziraphale asks wryly. “I think it worked out according to Her Plan.”

“Probably,” Crowley adds bitterly as he unlocks the door to the flat and they all file in.

“We should pick a school and Adam will need a birth certificate eventually.”

“There’s a secondary school not far from Soho,” Crowley says looking up on his phone. “Seems to have good reviews.”

“Well, we should get him registered.” Aziraphale says.

“I’ll call and get it set up. Like you said he’ll need a birth certificate. So I suppose, Adam, what do you want your name to be?” Crowley asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean do you still want to be Adam Young? Or something else?” Crowley explains.

“Well, what’s your name?” Adam inquires.

“Anthony J. Crowley.” Crowley answers immediately.

“Aziraphale Z. Fell” Aziraphale says when Adam looks to him.

“So, shouldn’t I have one of your last names?” Adam asks hesitantly.

“You most certainly can.” Crowley says. “I go by Anthony or Ashteroth depending on my mood. And I did birth you myself so I would technically be your mum.”

“So does that make Aziraphale my dad?”

“I certainly can be, Adam. It would be an honour to be your dad.” Aziraphale tells him, smiling softly.

“Can we get a birth certificate that says that?” Adam asks.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Crowley asks, smiling. With a snap there is a copy of a birth certificate for an Adam Fell born to Ashteroth Crowley and Aziraphale Fell sitting innocuously on the desk. “You were born in a hospital that burnt down so we have the only copy of your records. Let’s not lose it.” And Adam nods seriously. “Good. Now I’ll get you enrolled at Normanhurst. Then we can go furniture shopping for the flat above the bookshop.” Crowley says.

“Normanhurst?”

“It’s an independent school in The National Gallery.” Crowley tells him.

“Ah,” Aziraphale says. And that’s all that is said on the matter.

It doesn’t take Crowley long to contact the school and to have Adam set up to attend when the summer is over. So they head out, leaving Dog at home to go furniture shopping. They make it to the shop and browse, testing sofas and chairs and beds, and they reassure Adam that he is not a bother, that they have plenty of money to afford such things. Once everything is ordered and paid for they head back to the bookshop where they plan layouts and moving boxes miraculously appear between one flat and the other. Bookshelves are delivered immediately and knick knacks are unpacked and placed on the shelves. Tables, too, find themselves placed and used. And soon it’s time for dinner and another day is over. The trip back to Mayfair in the Bentley is quick and soon they are eating dinner and heading back to bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once the door is closed to the rest of the flat, Aziraphale finds himself pushed against the closed door with Crowley's lips on his and trailing down to his neck.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasps. “Adam,” He protests weakly.

“We are celestial beings, Angel, and soundproofing is a thing we can do.” Crowley says, not lifting his face from the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale’s head tilts to give him more room and he feels Crowley's hands undoing the buttons of his waistcoat. The fabric is pulled from his shoulders to pool at his feet and Crowley’s hands untangle the knot of his tie.

Aziraphale’s hands tug Crowley's head up to kiss him properly and Crowley’s hands tug his shirt free of his trousers to slip under and touch bare flesh. Aziraphale gives a moan and his head drops back to expose his throat to Crowley’s ministrations. Crowley’s mouth finds its way to the junction of Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder to bite another mark into the flesh. Aziraphale’s hands begin unbuttoning his own shirt before Crowley stops him and pins them to the door behind him next to his head.

“Stay,” Crowley growls and Aziraphale whimpers.

“Yes, Sire,” Aziraphale nods in agreement.

Crowley smirks and Aziraphale feels his hands continue the work he had been doing and soon his shirt is following his waistcoat onto the floor. Aziraphale’s hands clench around air with the desire to move but he will not disappoint or disobey. He keeps his hands steady where they are and earns himself a filthy kiss to his lips. Crowley’s hand tangles in his hair and tilts his head to give better access to his mouth and then as a lead to direct him over to sit on the bed. A miracle has Aziraphale’s clothes set on the dresser. Crowley steps up to the space between Aziraphale’s thighs. He can feel Crowley’s hands dig into his hair and tug lightly on the scalp and bites back a moan as his head is tilted back to look up at Crowley.

“I got you a present, Angel.” Crowley says kindly.

Aziraphale hums questioningly. “A present?” His eyes are drifting closed at the feel of fingers in his hair. One of the hands leaves and he whines before he hears a snap and opens his eyes. Crowley is holding a collar, sky blue like after a storm. His eyes widen, Crowley takes his other hand from his hair to toy with the collar. There is no clasp, it’s designed to be put on and off by magic. The outside is supple leather but there is a strip of infernal iron ringing the inside. Aziraphale feels his breathing pick up. The feel of the collar the other day had been like being held safe and secure by Crowley’s hand and this one he can walk around with. Though the sight of a collar on him might shock Adam back to those horribly small minded humans.

“Would you like to put it on?” Crowley asks softly.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says in a strangled whisper. Yes he wants. With a soft snap the collar is around his neck. He hisses at the feel of infernal iron but calms quickly and sighs in contentment. It’s a background stinging sensation that fades to white noise soon enough. He can feel Crowley's hands tugging at the collar and his fingers coming between it and his skin but his eyes have already slipped closed again.

“Good, Angel?” Crowley asks and Aziraphale can only hum again in agreement. “I had plans for you tonight, Angel. They will be ruined if you fall asleep on me.” Crowley says teasingly and Aziraphale forces his eyes open. Be a good angel. “Get on the bed. On your back. And bring your wings out.”

Aziraphale begins to obey and then pauses asking, “Wings?”

“Yes, your wings,” Crowley reiterates calmly.

“If it please you, Sire.” Aziraphale says obediently.

“It pleases me greatly to see your wings.” Crowley says and soon the room is filled with two pairs of great white wings the feathers soft, opalescent, and grand. Aziraphale lays on his back with his wings spread to either side of him and watches Crowley circle the bed.

With a soft snap of Crowley's fingers his clothes are set aside and he climbs up onto the bed, carefully avoiding the feathers until he is kneeling over Aziraphale. “My pretty bird,” He croons and Aziraphale smiles and stretches to display himself and his wings. Crowley digs his hands into the feathers to either side of them and Aziraphale moans.They were not kidding when they said touching someone’s wings is like touching their soul. And nobody had touched Aziraphale’s wings since he was stationed in Heaven with Lucifer. He still feels the same as back then, soft and gentle and kind.

Crowley works methodically and soon Aziraphale is dozing, drifting. The feeling of Crowley’s hands gently soothing and smoothing his wayward feathers into place and the collar around his neck holding him securely giving him a sense of freedom and floating. He feels like he is flying and falling all at once. It lasts for long hours before he feels kisses pressed to his face and neck around the collar and he opens his eyes lazily.

“I still want to have you tonight.” Crowley says salaciously. And Aziraphale hums happily, spreading his legs wide to accommodate Crowley between them. “Do you want the chains again tonight?” Crowley asks and Aziraphale pauses as the words make their way through his fog addled brain. The chains are good for keeping him still and in position. He can be still tonight for Crowley. He shakes his head no and Crowley kisses him again. “Okay.” He says simply.

Aziraphale hums as Crowley's fingers breach his entrance, first one and then two and finally three. Crowley takes his time with that as well, going slowly and steadily, thrusting and twisting gently as Aziraphale’s hole slowly relaxes and opens for him. Aziraphale gives a whine when he feels Crowley's pull out but is soon sighing happily as he feels the blunt head of Crowley’s cock pressing at his entrance. Aziraphale sighs again in contentment as he feels Crowley bottom out inside of him and Crowley begins a slow rhythm gently rocking in and out.

There are soft kisses pressed to his stomach and chest. And all Aziraphale can feel is the stinging iron around his neck and the gently rocking of Crowley in and out of his channel. He floats for an unknown amount of time before he feels Crowley speed up slightly the force of his thrusts picking up. Aziraphale mewls as Crowley’s hands tangle back in his wings and then one of those sinfully elegant hands in around his prick stroking him. He can feel when Crowley finishes, thrusting deeper than ever and the feel of his cock throbbing, spilling deep inside of him. Crowley pulls out gently and Aziraphale whines until he feels the hardness of the dildo pressing back in.

Then there is the feel of a mouth around his cock, sucking gently and bobbing up and down the length of him. Aziraphale sighs as he comes down Crowley's throat, his eyes still closed and back arching off the bed. He slowly opens his eyes to look down at Crowley with all the love he can muster shining in his eyes and sees the same love and devotion shining back. Slowly Crowley crawls back up the bed and presses flush against him as he kisses him tenderly.

“Do you want me to take the collar off?” Crowley asks gently and Aziraphale shakes his head no. Crowley smiles softly at him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We need to take a trip to Hell tomorrow. I’m worried about taking Adam, but I think it’s important for him to see it.” Crowley admits pressing gentle kisses to Aziraphale's bare chest.

“I think he can handle seeing it. Are you going to have someone collect the Young’s?” Aziraphale asks drowsily.

“Yes. They don’t get to treat my son like that. Like a monster. He saved their lives. And everyone’s lives.”

“I completely agree with you. Adam doesn’t deserve that. I’m proud of you, Crowley. I know you didn’t want him at first but you are doing a great job trying to be his dad.”

“I didn’t want the Apocalypse. There is a difference. Had I been able to conceive him with you there would have been a difference.” Crowley admits.

“I love you too, Crowley.” Aziraphale says smiling sappily as he drifts off.


	22. Ruling Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family pays a visit to Hell and then to Heaven and get no answers at all.

Aziraphale wakes to sunlight on his face and a weight on his chest. Looking down he sees Crowley sprawled over his chest and stomach. He brings his wings up to cover the two of them in a gentle embrace shielding his lover from the sun’s rays as they emerge over the horizon. His hands find their way into Crowley’s hair until Crowley wakes and tilts his head into the petting.

“Morning, Love,” Aziraphale says.

“Morning, Angel,” Crowley greets with a kiss “We had best get ready for the day.”

“I wish I could wear your collar all the time,” Aziraphale says with a pout as Crowley pulls out of his arms. He feels safe with it on.

“We could make it invisible but let’s find something else for you to wear instead.” Crowley says as he stands and grabs Aziraphale's clothes to hand to him.

“I like the feeling of your hand around my throat,” Aziraphale admits a bit embarrassed and takes the offered bundle of clothes. A snap has him feeling refreshed and the toy from last night is set aside.

Crowley smiles and obliges by wrapping his hand around Aziraphale’s throat lightly at first and the squeezing gently. Aziraphale gives a contented hum and Crowley leans down to kiss his gently and loosens his grip.

“Later, Dog needs out.” Crowley says and snaps the collar off and into his waiting hand. Aziraphale pouts but stands up.

“I’ll go see to Dog and Adam. I know how you enjoy your leisurely showers.” Aziraphale offers.

“Enjoy them better with you.” Crowley says giving him another kiss and going into the attached bathroom.

Aziraphale takes the chance to get out of the bedroom and finds Adam sitting in the living room with Dog.

“Hi, Aziraphale.” Adam greets with a small smile.

“Good morning, Adam. Have you been up long?” Aziraphale asks moving further in to the room.

“Not long. Dog woke me up. He’s really good about that.”

“I’m sure he is. Why don’t we take him for a walk while your Father takes his shower.” Aziraphale suggests and Adam nods his head smiling.

“Alright. Come on, Dog.” Adam says standing up and together they make their way out of the flat and into the streets of Mayfair.

The walk isn’t awkward but there is a tension in the air. Adam is silent and Aziraphale doesn’t quite know what to say to him. “I want you to know, Adam. That I may not be your Father but I am proud of how you are handling everything.” Aziraphale finally settles for saying. “I know it can’t be easy to find out everything you have in the last few weeks and to upend your life.”

“Why didn’t they want me?” Adam asks quietly and Aziraphale feels his heart break. He reaches out to pull Adam into his side as they walk.

“Some humans are just very small minded, Adam. They have a picture of the world and they can’t imagine anything that disturbs that. The Young’s just can’t imagine a world that has anything supernatural and don’t want a reminder of all that they are powerless to do. Your Father is right that you aren’t human, Adam. You are more than they are and a reminder of how much there is in the world that they will never understand or be able to comprehend.”

“So it isn’t me?”

“No, Adam. It is nothing you did.” Aziraphale assures him. By the time Aziraphale is done talking they have made it to the park and are turning around to head back in a much more comfortable silence, Aziraphale’s arm still around Adam’s shoulder.

“So, you and Dad. How long has that been going on?” Adam asks innocently.

“Ah, A, uh… A little since the End of the World wasn’t and a little of forever.” Aziraphale tells him. “We knew each other in Heaven before he Fell and I loved him then. But… She, the Almighty, your Grandmother, made everyone in Heaven forget I had ever existed as Raphael. That there ever had been an Archangel called Raphael much less that I was him. And then I was so afraid for so long as I knew him as Crowley. I wanted to be with him but… Fear has a way of taking things from you, Adam. I never want you to be afraid.” Aziraphale says as they walk into the building and wait for the lift to take them up to the flat.

“Well, you have each other now. That’s what is important, right?” Adam asks.

“Precisely.” Aziraphale answers. “And we get to be a family with you.” Aziraphale smiles at Adam and Adam returns his smile with a wide one of his own.

“Adam,” Crowley greets as they walk into the flat’s kitchen. “I think it’s time you see Hell.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes at the lack of greeting but squeezes Adam’s shoulder

“Hell? Can I do that? Wouldn’t I need to die?” Adam asks nervously.

“Not,” Crowley says conspiratorially, “If we take the main entrance,”and he jingles his keys in his hand.

“You’ll love the main entrance, Adam,” Aziraphale tells him. “But not so much Hell. It’s pretty dirty and cramped. No space to let out your wings.”

“Oh,” Adams says simply.

“Let’s go,” Crowley says and they head out. Adam and Dog both climb in the backseat and Crowley and Aziraphale in the front and they make their way to the Tower and go in. Aziraphale and Crowley sink right down and Adam pauses a moment before following them trustingly.

The Gates of Hell are wide open to everyone and demons are travelling to and fro behind them. They are grumbling and complaining but they are working. Adam steps closer to Crowley and Aziraphale with wide eyes.

“No fear, Adam. You are their Prince. You must act like it. Be confident. You are in charge,” Crowley says lowly into Adam’s ear. Aziraphale gives his shoulder a squeeze before they begin walking through the Gates and into the offices of Hell. Dog gives a growl and the demons back up. Dog is no longer the gentle puppy that Adam is used to but it is Dog all the same. Huge and growling viciously. And all the demons give the foursome a wide berth. Crowley out front with Aziraphale a step behind. Adam is next to Aziraphale with their heads held high and Dog pads at his other side. Demons all around them drop to their knees as They pass and quickly get back to work once they're gone. There are murmurs of conversation but the buzz dies as they pass only to restart once their backs are turned.

Hell is a maze of hallways that it is impossible to not get lost in but with Satan in the lead it takes no time to reach straight to the heart of Hell and arrive in the main offices right outside the Palace. Beelzebub is waiting at the door to the Palace outside xir office.

“We have been expecting you, Sire. I laid the paperwork on your desk and the builders are eager to get to work building an attachment to the Palace for Prince Adam.” Xe says as a greeting.

“Very good, Beelzebub. I am pleased with your work.” Crowley says and Beelzebub bows low to the ground. “Adam, Aziraphale, why don’t you and Dog take a walk through the Palace while I talk business with Beelzebub.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale says respectfully and guides Adam and Dog through Crowley’s office and into the Palace.

Adam’s mouth drops open at seeing the Palace. It is made of red stone and bone with high ceilings and naturally occurring stalactites. Aziraphale smiles as he guides Adam further into the Palace. Past Crowley's office and down the hallways to the throne room. They are both wandering without direction until they reach the throne room.

“He really is a king.” Adam says, eyeing the throne set up in the middle of the room.

“He really is,” Aziraphale says numbly.

“Aziraphale, are you okay?” Adam asks.

“I don’t know, Adam.” He says truthfully. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I know.” Adam agrees and they share a commiserating smile. “Does he know?”

“Know?” Aziraphale asks. “No, I don’t think he does.”

“Maybe you should talk to him about it.” Adam suggests.

“We will, Adam. It’s not especially distressing just… takes time to come to terms with it.” Aziraphale says. “I promise we won’t be having trouble for you to worry about.”

Adam just nods his head.

“I see you’ve found the throne. It was the first thing built when we pulled ourselves out of the pools.”

“The pools?” Adam asks.

“Of burning lava and acid.” Crowley tells him.

Adam pales. “That must have hurt.”

“It did.” Crowley sighs.

“And where is your crown?” Aziraphale asks, changing the subject.

Suddenly, Crowley is holding a crown of stone and bone to match the throne and they inspect it pointing out the exquisite detail put into the carvings of Fallen angels around the base of it and the shooting stars that fall from the top to crash in frozen splashes of stone.

“Put it on?” Adam asks eagerly and Aziraphale smiles at him and nods.

Crowley smirks as he puts it on and raises one elegant eyebrow.

“Very good look on you, Love,” Aziraphale says and Adam nods.

“I’m glad you approve. Now, Metatron wants to speak to me. SO we have a pit stop to make up in Heaven before we head out.”

“Again, can I get to Heaven?” Adam asks.

“I don’t see why not. We’ll take the elevator.” And Crowley leads them to the elevator and they pile in and the ride is long and takes forever but they arrive in no time at all. They exit to see the same business of Hell in a much more open space making it seem less frantic. The angels around them are nervous, Aziraphale can tell by the way they avert their gazes but bow their heads at them. Aziraphale walks beside Crowley now as they make their way to Metatron’s office. Metatron stands as they enter his open office and bows his head to them.

“Welcome, Lucifer and Raphael. And Adam,” He says mildly. He seems unafraid.

“Metatron. What can we do for you?” Crowley asks, a bit too friendly.

“She has spoken. We are to answer to you now. So I would like to know where to send your paperwork and what your orders are.” Metatron says.

“I have enough on my plate to run Hell. Angel, you want Heaven?” Crowley asks him.

“If I must,” Aziraphale sighs. “I would prefer to place someone in charge to deal with the day to day and I can just sign off on paperwork. Much like Beelzebub. Metatron can I trust you to run Heaven in my stead?”

“If I know your wishes, I will see it done.” Metatron says gravely.

“Then continue as we have been. Only, learn to Love them. All angels. We haven’t been interacting as much and it shows. Not just in the humans but in the angels.” Aziraphale tells him.

“I will see it done.” Metatron says.

“Not to say we tell the humans we exist.” Aziraphale clarifies.

“I did not think so.”

Aziraphale nods. “Proceed as usual then. For now.”

Metatron nods and bows his head.

“Say, you wouldn’t happen to know,” Crowley begins and Metatron turns to him. “Why we aren’t impacted by Holy Water?”

“You are Archangels. Your Grace can not be taken from you.”

“I know we Fell.” Crowley says.

“But your Grace was not taken from you like with the others. It cannot be. Or was not. For She is capable of all things.” Metatron answers.

Aziraphale rolls his eyes but doesn’t contradict him. He still feels his Grace after all. He hasn’t truly Fallen and he wonders if it is the same for Crowley hence his ability to withstand the Holy Water. But he is obviously a demon if the Hellfire is any indication.

“Alright. Well. We are going back to Earth.” Crowley says and turns to leave with Adam.

“You can sent the paperwork to my desk on Earth.” Aziraphale tells Metatron as he turns to join them.

They reach the elevator together and this time they stop at the ground floor. Dog is his regular self again and Adam gives a sigh of relief. The drive to Mayfair is taken at top speeds with Queen blasting and Aziraphale is… content. He has a husband, a son, and a dog. He has a family. It is more than he ever thought to have but he is still… wary of letting his guard down. He needs to speak to Crowley. But when Crowley looks over to him smiling, he smiles back. Crowley is so happy. He doesn’t want to take that from him with unfounded fears.


	23. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley talk and then engage in some role play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some rough rape roleplay that is undernegotiated but no use of safewords happens.

They reach the flat in record time and spend the rest of the day with Crowley and Aziraphale teaching Adam how to groom his wings like they had said they would. It takes hours but eventually Adam’s wings are immaculate and the three of them are ready for dinner and bed. They order takeaway again from a hole in the wall Indian restaurant and Adam seems to enjoy it. But soon enough it is time for bed.

They make it into the bedroom before Crowley turns to him with lust in his eyes. And Aziraphale smiles nervously. Crowley has him pinned to the wall before he can blink.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale moans as Crowley dives into the crook of his neck to bite and suck another bruise into his flesh. “We need to talk.” He manages to get out. And Crowley freezes and slowly backs away.

“Talk?” Crowley asks nervously.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replies just as nervously.

“About what?” Crowley continues eyeing Aziraphale up and down.

“About us. About you… and me.” Aziraphale says and Crowley looks stricken.

“What about us?” Crowley asks backing all the way away and putting far too much distance between the two of them for Aziraphale’s liking.

“Nothing bad, my dear. Just about what we do from here. About what our lies mean to each other. About how we want to move forward.” Aziraphale tries to reassure. “And, I think I would like you to be yourself for this one.” He adds hesitantly.

“Be… you mean be Satan.” Aziraphale flinches at the name and looks down. “Or you mean… Lucifer.” Crowley corrects softly.

Aziraphale raises his eyes to meet Crowley’s gaze. He notices Crowley swallow heavily and then a change comes over him. He’s melting, his hair fading into blond and the sharp angles of his face softening slightly. He wonders how it was so difficult to see Lucifer in Crowley for so many years when he sees the micro changes happen before his eyes. He doesn’t look particularly different but different enough he supposes.

Aziraphale’s breath catches in his throat as he gazes across the room at Lucifer.

“Angel,” Crowley breathes and opens his arms and Aziraphale realizes he is crying. He steps forward into Lucifer’s arms and buries his head in his chest. He feels arms wrap around him and hold him tightly.

“Lucifer.” The arms around him tense. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I know you changed your name for a reason but you will always be Lucifer to me like this.”

“’s alright.” Lucifer’s voice washes over him. “I don’t mind if it’s you, Aziraphale.” And it’s Aziraphale’s turn to tense slightly. “You prefer to be called Raphael, don’t you?” Lucifer asks gently.

“I haven’t been him since before being stationed in the Garden. But I miss being him.” Aziraphale admits quietly. “I miss the respect and being known as myself.”

“I know you. You are both. You are kind and generous and loving and the best of all the angels I’ve ever known, Raphael.” Lucifer tells him earnestly.

“I love you, Lucifer. If you had come to me on the Garden wall as yourself I would have followed you to the depths of Hell just to be by your side.” Aziraphale tells him seriously. “I can’t tell you how much time I spent hating myself for falling in love with Crowley when I was made to be yours.”

“I don’t want you hating yourself, Raphael.” Lucifer says gently. “I’m here. We are the same. You don’t have to choose.”

“I know that. I do. But I’m not used to being happy. It’s like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or the bottom to fall out. I don’t know how to do this. How to be with you without worrying about what Heaven will think or Hell will do or… if you really want me.” He whispers the last part mostly to himself.

“Of course I want you, Raphael. You were made to be mine. I have a feeling I wouldn’t have recognized you at the Wall even if you had used your real name but if you had told me you wanted to be mine I would have claimed you. I did claim you, in my mind at least. You were always mine since that talk.” Lucifer tells him seriously.

“I wanted to be yours. I wanted to Fall for you Lucifer. I really did.” Raphael says looking up to meet Lucifer’s eyes.

“I will be honest with you, Raphael. If you had told me who you were at the Wall I likely wouldn’t have been permitted to remember you. I would have taken you but I would not have been kind about it. I would have hurt you and enjoyed it. I wanted to hurt you and to break you and remake you into my obedient pet.” Lucifer admits. “I still do.”

“You don’t have to break me for me to be obedient to you, Lucifer. Even then you wouldn’t have had to, I don’t think. But thank you for telling me. I’m…” Raphael pauses, “I’m not afraid of you, Lucifer. Even knowing all you’ve done to humanity. You told them to, and I know they had a chance to refuse but they didn’t. It doesn’t mean they would have thought to do so without your intervention. But you were testing them, like She wanted you to.”

“And the thought that I played into Her game and did what She wanted pisses me off.” Lucifer hisses with his rage directed at no one in particular.

“I know it does, Love.”

“But I have you now.”

“You have me now.”

“And you will obey me.”

“In the bedroom I will obey you. I will not bend my knee on matters of Heaven. You didn’t want to rule Heaven and gave it to me. I will also be seen as your equal in Adam’s life.” Raphael tells him seriously. He sees a dark cloud come over Lucifer’s face for a moment before it clears.

“I see your logic in that. But you have never ruled a celestial plane before.” Lucifer cajoles.

“I will take all you tell me under advisement.” Raphael insists. “But I must have Heaven run by my best conscience. I owe it to them.”

“You don’t owe them anything, Angel. Not a one ever stood up for you against the other Archangels.”

“They couldn’t, Lucifer. I don’t blame them for what Gabriel and the others did. And I still remember each of them as they were made, Lucifer. It is my duty to protect them. I’m surprised you don’t remember them. I was at your side when She told us to guide them and protect them.” Raphael says a bit testily pulling out of Lucifer’s arms and feeling bereft of warmth.

“I remember. But then She cast me out.” Lucifer bites out.

“She didn’t take your Grace though. Apparently.” Raphael reminds.

“Apparently,” Lucifer agrees.

“I don’t want us to fight, Lucifer. I want us to spend our nights together and our days together and to make up for all that time we haven’t been able to be together.”

“I understand. I don’t want us to fight either.” Lucifer admits reaching out to grab hold of Raphael’s hand and pressing a kiss to the back. “Come to bed with me?” He murmurs against the hand in his grasp.

“Tell me more about how you wanted to break me.” Raphael says letting Lucifer press kisses to each of his knuckles and the palm of his hand.

Lucifer hums worriedly. “Are you sure? It’s not a pleasant time for you.”

“I want to see your darkness.” Raphael insists.

“It started in Sodom. I wanted to see you broken by those humans. But the idea of them laying a hand on _my_ angel… well. It made me livid.” Lucifer admits.

“They wanted to rape me.” Raphael whispers.

“And that’s what I wanted to do. I wanted to force you and break you and remake you as my obedient little angel.” Lucifer admits just as quietly.

“Do you still?”

“Sometimes. I wanted to take you when you kept saying no. In the Bastille I wanted to take you chained like that to Hell and watch you beg me to release you. Even as recently as the Thursday before the end of the world. I wanted to come into the bookshop. To not take no for an answer. To press you against that desk of yours and to the settee to watch the tears in your eyes as you cried while I took what I wanted from you. I would not have been cruel. I would have brought you to finish with me. But I wanted it.”

“Do you still?”

“I do.”

“I want it, too. I would think about what would happen if you stopped taking no for an answer as well. I want it, too.” Raphael whispers ashamedly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Then come here, Raphael.” Lucifer hisses viciously.

Raphael’s eyes widen but he takes a step backward. Lucifer’s eyes narrow and he growls.

“I gave you an order, Angel.”

Raphael shakes his head. Lucifer steps forward and snatches his hand into Raphael’s golden curls and pulls savagely. Raphael’s head snaps back and his heart beats a staccato against his ribs. His breaths are coming quick and shallow and his hand reaches up to grip at the hand in his hair.

“Don’t make me ask again, Angel.” Lucifer growls and yanks Raphael over to the bed and onto his knees. Raphael cries out as his knees hit the hard floor. With a snap of Lucifer’s fingers they are both bare and Raphael can see how Lucifer is growing hard.

“Please,” Raphael whimpers. “Stop.”

“I don’t think so, Angel.” Lucifer smirks and Raphael feels the hand in his hair tighten even more as Lucifer steps closer and he cries out again in shocked pain at the pull on his scalp. Lucifer’s hand fists his own cock bringing it to full hardness and guiding it to Raphael’s lips. “Open up, Angel. Or I’ll get the gag.”

Raphael keeps his mouth stubbornly closed and Lucifer smirks. The hand in his hair relaxes but the next snap of a miracle has him hissing in pain as infernal iron is wrapped around his wrists chaining them close together and attached too close to the collar around his throat. There is a familiar looking gag in Lucifer’s hands and Raphael swallows nervously. This time Lucifer doesn’t even bother asking if Raphael will comply before he is reaching forward and forcing the angel’s mouth open and fitting the gag in place. Raphael fights as much as he can and tries to keep his mouth closed or to bite but Lucifer has the gag in place before he can do much of anything to revolt.

Once in place, Lucifer’s hand finds its way into his hair again and tugs harshly on the roots. The other hand fists his cock again and brings it up to circle Raphael’s mouth before plunging into the base. Raphael gags and chokes on the suddenness of the hot flesh in his throat. Lucifer sets a brutal pace in and out of Raphael’s bruised mouth and it brings tears to Raphael’s eyes that spill over.

“That’s what I like to see.” Lucifer grunts, wiping away the tears from Raphael’s cheeks. “I’m tired of no’s from you, Angel. Isn’t this so much better if you cooperate? I can make this so good for you. But you wanted it the hard way.”

With a last deep thrust, Lucifer pulls out and tosses Raphael into the side of the bed. With his hands bound at his neck, he has no chance to catch himself and lands sprawled on the floor at Lucifer’s feet panting and sobbing. Raphael tries to look up at Lucifer but can only manage to raise his gaze to his knees.

He hears another snap but nothing immediately changes until Lucifer picks him up off the floor and he sees the chains attached to the foot of the bed. Lucifer pulls him to his feet and tosses him into the middle of the bed and Raphael squirms away but his feet are soon caught in the grasp of the chains. He tries to cry out as he is pulled down the bed trapped on his back. He tries to get his fingers under the leather of the gag but finds it done a touch too tight and the metal of the gag bites into the corners of his mouth.

“I wouldn’t, Angel.” Lucifer says threateningly. And Raphael tries to pull away as Lucifer climbs up and over him, looming above him. “We can make this good for you, Angel. Or we can make this hurt. It is your choice.”

Raphael shakes his head frantically from side to side as he tries to back away. Lucifer leans forward over him to wrap one strong hand around his bound wrists and yank him back towards him. Raphael’s feet fight to find purchase on the silk beneath him but it is impossible as he slides over the slick surface. He realizes he is hard only once Lucifer wraps an elegant hand around him and he groans.

“See, I think you are enjoying this.” Lucifer says to devastating effect. Raphael feels himself thrusting up into the fist around him as tears spring to his eyes. Shame. It coils low in his belly and pricks at his eyes. “Oh, poor Angel.” Lucifer croons as his fist stops its path over Raphael’s prick. Raphael gives as much of a sob as possible with his mouth held open by the gag as his head is thrown back digging into the soft mattress and his hips stutter upwards.

Lucifer kneels over him watching him for long moments as he struggles. Lightning quick he darts forward and tears the gag from Raphael’s mouth and presses a forceful kiss to his open mouth. Lucifer’s hand in his hair and around his chin keeps his mouth open as Lucifer’s tongue dances into his mouth.

“Please,” Raphael whimpers when Lucifer pulls away. “Let me go.”

“No,” Lucifer whispers against his lips. “You’re mine.” And Lucifer pulls away to viciously flip Raphael onto his stomach head buried in the red silk. There is the sound of a snap and cool gel being dripped down the crack of his arse and Raphael jumps and tries to squirm away. Rocking back and forth as he inches away. The feel of a hand on the nape of his neck pinning him down is expected but still makes him flinch as does the feel of fingers circling his rim.

“No. No. Nonononononononono.” Raphael murmurs mantra like as a finger slowly dips past the rim and into his channel. He cries out as the finger settles in his arse and begins to thrust roughly in and out. His hips stutter forward rubbing his cock obscenely on the red silk staining the bedding with precome.

“Hush, Raphael.” Lucifer says softly as he adds another finger slowly the slide of rough flesh against Raphael’s rim pulling a high pitched whine out of him. He squirms away from the sensation but Lucifer’s hand around his neck has him pinned too well for much movement and the chains around his ankles pull him tight across the bed.

Raphael hisses as yet another finger is added to the collection fucking him open. Lucifer twists his fingers and probes deep finding the bundle of nerves and gland that causes Raphael to squeal. Lucifer’s fingers quickly disappear and Raphael whines in anticipation of what comes next. He is not disappointed as the head of Lucifer’s cock presses at his rim and slowly pushes in, a slow inexorable slide inwards, spearing him open. Lucifer pulls him up to his knees and presses his head down towards the bed as he pushes in.

“That’s it, Angel. You feel perfect opening up around me.” Lucifer hisses as he bottoms out and then he is pulling out and pushing back in forcefully. He sets a punishing pace, a violent push and pull that leaves Raphael gasping for breath and whining on every slide in. He feels trapped by the cock in his arse and the hand on the nape of his neck and the hand gripping his hip holding him up.

The hand around his hip that is moving trailing around to rest on his pelvis bracketing his hard cock and Raphael sobs. There are tears trailing down his cheeks and a sob catches in his throat.

“Please,” Raphael sobs and Lucifer’s hand wraps around his cock and pulls twisting around the head and Raphael cries out again. It takes perhaps a dozen tugs before Raphael is crying out again riding the cresting wave of desire and completion.

“That’s it, Angel.”Lucifer murmurs as he thrusts in again and again until bordering on overstimulation and Raphael cries out and struggles away from the hand around him and the hard cock still forcing its way into his now pliant body.

Lucifer pulls out and turns Raphael into his back and leans forward kissing the tears from his cheeks. Lucifer moves up the bed to kneel over Raphael’s chest and forces open his mouth once again before thrusting back into his mouth and Raphael gags at the prick holding his mouth wide open. Soon enough Lucifer is coming undone, spurting hot come into Raphael’s mouth which he swallows down without complaint. When Lucifer pulls out, the chains around his ankles are gone as are the chains binding his wrists to his collar.

“Raphael?” Lucifer asks and Raphael whines. “Sh,” Lucifer hushes him as he pulls the angel into his arms. With a snap even the collar is gone and Raphael turns into Lucifer’s arms. Slowly Lucifer moves to massage his wrists and arms and presses kisses to his neck and wrists and the corners of his mouth. Summoning a warm wet cloth, Lucifer gently wipes away Raphael’s tears and the spend that had gotten smeared over his stomach when he had collapsed into the mess of his own spend.

“Lucifer?” Raphael asks, eyes closed.

“Yes, Love,” Lucifer responds, pressing kisses to his closed eyelids and his cheeks.

“Was it what you wanted?” Raphael asks quietly.

“It was perfect. You were perfect. My beautiful, perfect, Angel.” Lucifer reassures. “You were so good and I love you so much.”

Raphael lets the sound of Lucifer’s voice wash over him as he is gathered into Lucifer’s arms and held tightly to his chest. He gives a great yawn and settles down into Lucifer’s embrace.

“Was it what you wanted, Love?” Lucifer’s voice changes pitch cutting into Raphael’s drowsy state.

He hums considering. “Yes. It was.” He says yawning again.

“Good. Get some rest, my Love.” Lucifer says softly pressing a soft kiss to the crown of his head but Raphael is already asleep.


	24. Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale, Crowley and Adam face down with the Them's parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the final chapter of Prices Paid. It took so much longer to finish. My muse died halfway through.

Aziraphale wakes sore and wrung out and tired. He is in his husband's arms and as the night before comes into clarity he stiffens and feels the way his muscles ache. It was what he had wanted, wasn’t it? But he remembers the look in Lucifer’s eyes. How dark it was. He hadn’t minded the darkness. He feared he had it too. But that it was on his dear Lucifer’s face. That stung.

He would always love Lucifer. He would. No matter what. But he wasn’t his Lucifer anymore. That wasn’t something his Lucifer would have asked him for. But Crowley, Crowley would have. And himself. That isn’t something Raphael would have enjoyed but he had. He was hedonistic in a way that Raphael would never be. Would never have the chance to be. Because Raphael was as dead as Lucifer.

Aziraphale looks up into the closed eyes of Lucifer beside him. And leans up to kiss the closed lids and then the closed lips tenderly, a kiss of goodbyes. He swallows, raises his hand to run softly over Lucifer’s face committing him to memory, the peacefulness of sleep. Lucifer’s nose twitches and the eyes slowly open until Lucifer is gazing down at him with a peaceful look in his eyes.

“Raphael,” Lucifer says after a time.

Aziraphale shakes his head gently. “No. No I don’t think it suits me anymore. I understand why you changed your name now. I think… I think we’ve both outgrown what we were back then, Crowley. Will you be my Crowley again?” He asks softly.

Lucifer leans down to press a chaste kiss to his lips as the change washes over him and Aziraphale’s hand comes up to cup his changing cheek. When they pull away it is Crowley in bed with him and Aziraphale smiles gently at him.

“There’s my Love.” Aziraphale says.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley sighs.

“We should get up. Dog will need out.” Aziraphale says making no move to leave the bed.

Crowley sighs. “Maybe we should get a place in the country. Just so Adam can let him out into the garden in the morning.”

“And what about the bookshop?”

“We can keep the bookshop. With miracles we can go anywhere on Earth in the blink of an eye. Why not keep the bookshop?” Crowley says moving away and Aziraphale gives a whine at the loss of skin contact. Crowley moves back in to kiss his nose and then is out of the bed.

Aziraphale gets up out of the bed and with a snap is refreshed and dressed. Crowley doesn’t waste the time on a shower today either. And they both head out into the dark flat. Adam isn’t up yet so Aziraphale takes the time to look through the kitchen for something to serve Adam for breakfast. He would have to have a talk with Adam. As much as he enjoyed food, he didn’t need it but Adam does as far as anyone is aware. They would need Adam to tell them when he is hungry so they can feed him. The same with Dog. They were miracling food for him so far but they would need to go to the store. He says as much to Crowley and Crowley blesses under his breath.

“I don’t know how to do this, Angel. Adam is so much more fragile than us. He has needs we can’t even anticipate.”

“Thankfully, he is also old enough to tell us when and what he needs.” Aziraphale reminds him.

“Physically. What about emotionally? Or Psychologically?” Crowley asks.

“Well, no parent knows exactly how to raise a perfect child with no mistakes. We can read up on all those parenting books that are out there. And we know enough to make sure he isn’t hurt again. By not rejecting him.”

“I suppose so.” Crowley admits and they enjoy a companionable talk about how to run Heaven and what changes Aziraphale should make. Some recommendations he dismisses out of hand, like torturing them for failures. Some he takes under advisement, reordering the hierarchy by job description and usefulness. Adam wakes up later in the morning with Dog by his side he pads into the kitchen and Aziraphale smiles at him from around a cup of tea and Crowley a cup of coffee from the fancy machine he keeps in the kitchen so far only for aesthetics but is finally seeing use.

“Good morning, Adam.” Aziraphale greets and Adam smiles. “Adam, we need to get you breakfast. What would you like?”

“Some eggs?” Adam asks.

“I can make you some eggs. Anything else?”

“Orange juice.”

“Eggs and orange juice. Any toast?” Aziraphale asks.

“If you have it.” Adam says.

“If not we can miracle some up. Be a bit like manna from Heaven. Remember that, Angel.”

“Don’t remind me. I was quite sick of the stuff after a while.”

“Now, Adam,” Aziraphale says once Adam is eating. “We need to talk. You aren’t in trouble in fact we are the ones in trouble. You see, we don’t need to eat. So we need you to tell us what you need. We don’t have the same biological drives. If you need food or the loo or to sleep. You need to let us know, alright?”

“I can do that.” Adam says.

“Good. We would hate to feel like you were not getting what you need because of us not knowing what you need.” Crowley speaks up.

“I can understand that.” Adam says. “And you’ll tell me if I’m asking for too much?”

“Adam, your needs are never going to be too much. But we will let you know.” Aziraphale tells him.

“Now, the furniture is arriving today and we need to be there for it. So let’s pack up and head over to the bookshop. Dog too.” Crowley says and they make their way out of the flat with a pit stop at the park for Dog.

The furniture arrives and Aziraphale frets as they move it up the too small stairway to the flat upstairs and with no small amount of miracles the furniture is moved in with no damage to the building or the pieces themselves. The movers are sent out with a nice tip and the small family stands in the doorway surveying the scene. The settee is settled as is the kitchen table and nice set of comfortable chairs. The beds are put together with brand new fluffy mattresses and the new sheets are ready to be put on. And the boxes are miracled over from one flat to the other. Even Crowley’s plants are moved and set up around the space bringing a feeling of a jungle into the space and making it feel like a lived in home.

A home. Aziraphale smiles and looks to the two next to him. A family. It really does seem like things are going to be alright. The unsettled feeling that had been clawing at his chest eases just a bit. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he can have this. Maybe he’s allowed this.

“Dad?” Adam’s voice cuts through Aziraphale’s reverie. “Can I call the Them now?”

“I don’t see why not. It’s a bit late for them to come over today how about tomorrow. I can pick them up.” Crowley responds.

“Do you think their parents will be okay with that?” Aziraphale asks. “Only it seems a bit sketchy two men coming out of nowhere to take Adam in and then asking for their kids as well.”

“We can meet with them tomorrow and explain things to them. That we are his real parents and that the Young’s were willing to hand him over.” Crowley says unperturbed.

“That doesn’t speak well of the Young’s.” Aziraphale comments.

“I don’t really care about that. They turned their back on the child they raised as their own for eleven years.” Crowley points out.

“They were good parents until that though.” Adam says softly.

“Do you want us to find a different explanation?” Crowley asks.

Adam doesn’t answer for a long time. But he sighs as he says, “No.”

The conversation with the parents of the other Them does not go well. Adam makes the call and his distress is palpable as the parent he is currently talking to is yelling something indistinguishable at him. Crowley moves quickly to take the phone from his hand and Aziraphale spends the call comforting a shaking Adam.

“Listen, Adam is fine, he hasn’t been kidnapped. I have paperwork. I’m his father. The Young’s…” Crowley’s voice trails off as the voice keeps yelling. Eventually the voice stops and Crowley speaks up. “Are you quite finished? If you had been listening to him, Adam was trying to ask if his friends could come see his new house. Now, I am his father and we are prepared to meet with all of you to assuage any fears you may have. But I am not impressed with your attitude. I will not allow anyone to yell at my son like that. This has been a difficult enough time without losing his friends at the same time.” a long pause as the voice on the other end says something Aziraphale can’t make out.

“We are living in London for now. I have a car and am able to pick them up tomorrow morning and bring them back later in the evening. We will of course take care of all their needs for the day.” Another pause. “I understand you want to meet with us. That will be more than amenable. We had planned on it.” A pause. “Very well Madam. We will meet you tomorrow morning. Would you be willing to arrange it with the other parents? Thank you.” Crowley sneers and hangs up.

“That didn’t sound like it went well.” Aziraphale says.

“The Young’s are missing. Apparently. For the last few days.” Crowley admits.

“You did something to them didn’t you?” Adam asks softly.

“They are in Hell right now yes.” Crowley admits unashamedly.

Adam swallows and nods. “I figured you would do something like that. I didn’t think the town would be worried about me. They don’t like me much. Say I’m a troublemaker.” And Aziraphale squeezes him in a one armed hug.

“Nothing wrong with a little chaos now and then.” Crowley smiles a shark’s wide smile.

“Your father is right, Adam. Part of being a kid is about causing a little trouble now and again. And our job as your parents is to get you out of that trouble again until you know how to do it yourself.” Aziraphale tells him.

“Thanks, Aziraphale.” Adam says gratefully.

The conversation the next day does not go well either. It starts with police and questions. When the paperwork shows that Adam is truly their son and that the Young’s had signed over custody. The police may be sated but the parents are not. There’s yelling and threats and through it all, Aziraphale and Crowley are rocks in the storm for Adam.

As the police try to calm the furious parents who are yelling insults at a stoic Crowley and Aziraphale, Aziraphale looks down to see Adam shifting uncomfortably with his head hung low, toeing at the dirt with his trainers. Aziraphale reaches out to squeeze Adam’s shoulders and draw his attention. Adam looks up at him forlornly and Aziraphale offers a small smile that Adam tries to replicate. Aziraphale reaches out to lay a soft hand on Crowley’s elbow and when Crowley meets his gaze he gestures down to Adam. Crowley nods and turns back to the Them’s livid parents.

“Enough!” Crowley roars, pushing a bit of his demonic power into the command and the mortals around them fall deathly still and deathly silent, even the animals. In the silence that ensues Aziraphale speaks up.

“We had come here hoping that Adam wouldn’t have to lose his friends on top of the havoc that is being disowned by the only parents he has ever known. We had hoped that you would be willing to listen to reason. The Young’s disappearance while tragic has nothing to do with us. They are likely just ashamed of their behaviour towards Adam as well they should be. Adam was looking forward to showing his friends his new home, his room and the bookshop below it. We had hoped it would help him settle into his new life. I see we were wrong to suppose you would want him happy as everything you have done today has been to make him as miserable as possible. Crowley and myself can handle your disdain and distrust but that you would punish Adam for it is shameful and reprehensible.” Aziraphale’s voice is slow and steady and full of the force that only an Angel of the Lord can wield. “Come Adam. Let’s get you home. And we can stop for ice cream.” Aziraphale gently guides Adam away from the shocked parents and towards the waiting Bentley.

“Adam.” A voice calls out from behind them. “You can’t take him.”

“They can, Mrs. Wensleydale.” Another voice tells them sternly.

“Bye Adam.” Pepper’s voice rings out from next to the car.

“Yeah, bye Adam.”

“Actually yes, bye Adam.”

Aziraphale leans down to whisper into Adam’s ear. “It’s okay to be upset and to give them a hug goodbye if you would like.”

Adam gives a great sob before launching himself at Pepper who catches him with a bit of a panicked look but hugs him tightly. It only takes a moment before Brian and Wensley to join in on a group hug. Crowley and Aziraphale both shoot filthy looks at the parents standing looking uncomfortably ashamed under their stern visages. Even the police are giving the parents dirty looks.

“Fine!” Pepper’s mother exclaims, throwing up her hands. “Fine. Pepper can go. But I want your address and phone number in case you don’t bring her back.”

“Of course, dear lady. We are living in Soho. I run A. Z. Fell’s Books. We live over top of it.”

“A. Z. Fell’s?” Brian’s father asks.

“Yes. I specialize in rare first editions and religious texts.” Aziraphale tells them proudly.

There is a beat of silence before, “I want him home by 9 and in one piece.” Mr. Wensleydale says.

“Same here.” Brian’s father adds.

“9 o’clock alright with you as well, Ma’am?” Aziraphale addresses Pepper’s mother.

She pauses before nodding. “Yes. 9 o’clock.”

“Any allergies or health concerns we should be aware of?” Aziraphale asks as the kids cheer and file into the back of the Bentley.

At the negatives from the crowd of parents he turns to head around the car to the passenger seat.

“Do you need money for lunch?” Pepper’s mother speaks up.

“No need. We can handle a few lunches.” Aziraphale assures them before getting into the car and with a tip of his head, Crowley drives away at a sedate pace. Aziraphale takes the time to breathe a sigh of relief before Crowley is speeding up to frankly ridiculous speeds.

Reaching London is easy and the children’s gasps as the scenery flies past is flattering. London has been shaped by Aziraphale and Crowley through the years.

“Crowley, slow down let them see the sights.” Aziraphale gently admonishes. Crowley darts a glance at him and then at the children peering eagerly through the windows and slows down and merges back into the flow of traffic.

It’s late morning and not quite time for lunch but they stop anyway to wander around the city for a bit before piling back into the car and making for Soho. Crowley parks in front of the bookshop and they make their way up to the flat where the kids ooh and ah appropriately at the stacks of books in the shop and at Adam’s room. Soon, they are wandering down the street leaving Dog in the flat and Crowley is smirking as he suggests taking the children to the Ritz. Aziraphale gives a half-hearted glare and sternly tells the children to use their indoor voices and be on their best behaviour as they make their way to the restaurant. As they walk in the doors to find a miraculous reservation for six and a free table the children are looking around in awe. It seems Crowley and Aziraphale are recognized from their previous trips as the wait staff show them to their usual table.

“Are you sure we’re allowed to be here?” Pepper asks in a mock whisper as they are led to their seats.

“You’re right maybe let’s not point it out to them.” Crowley responds in kind and the kids’ eyes go wide as Aziraphale shakes his head.

Lunch passes in gentle conversation and looks of awe. Aziraphale orders more common fare for the kids and Crowley sticks to his wine and the children eat calmly. When lunch is finished, they proceed to do a bit of sightseeing until it’s time to pile back into the Bentley and make their way back to Tadfield. The drive back to Tadfield is slow and meandering but the Them are home by 8:30. And Aziraphale sees Adam smile in the backseat as he nods off. Aziraphale reaches over to hold tightly onto Crowley’s free hand and Crowley slows down just a bit more. And Aziraphale smiles. It’s not perfect. But it’s enough.


End file.
